Wolf's Moon
by cuthalion
Summary: In a sleepy village hides a stranger, hovering between a lost life and new possibilities. An unwanted encounter leads to a great adventure... and to unexpected hope. Obviously AU, Post-DH, with an OFC and several canon characters. FINALLY COMPLETE!
1. Prologue: An unexpected visit

Prologue:  
**An Unexpected Visit**

Outside of the cottage, the sun is shining on the neglected garden with all the warmth and glory of a bright August morning. Thin rays are shooting through the closed shutters of the living room windows like spears, painting a regular, golden pattern on the well-worn wooden floor.

It is a rather strange place for him to be, the man thinks, this pastoral, ridiculously picturesque house in the Lake District. From his viewpoint in the kitchen he can see children on bicycles, zigzagging along the narrow road that skirts the edge of the small sleepy village before it goes over a humpback bridge by the old Mill that he can see in the distance. To the left, a lane meanders into a wide meadow and heads uphill, turning to a loamy path and vanishing behind a grove of oaks. Across the road, behind one of the coarse, grey garden walls, a woman hangs laundry on a line.

"Master wants his breakfast now?"

"Another half an hour, if you please. Thank you."

He answers without turning, his tone absentminded but friendly. There have been times when the sound of his voice alone would turn the knees of stout prefects to jelly… but these times are over now. He allows himself a somewhat astounded look back at the man he once was and finds himself smiling… a nearly imperceptible smile, but a smile nonetheless. That man lies buried together with posthumous fame and memories best left untouched – and still he marvels at the fact that he is standing here at all, able to look back. He remembers that he'd been thinking about permanently leaving the country, directly _after_… but not now. _Not yet._

Half of the books are still not unpacked, the shelves nearly empty… and if he doesn't restock his supplies, he might lose the easy ability to perform what has been as natural for him as his own breathing. Not that it matters right now. This is a place as good as any to create what one day might be his new life. _Again, not yet._ Sometimes he feels as if he still is in that bright place, watching the boats vanishing in the distance, carrying familiar faces - and leaving him behind with a choice unexpected, undeserved.

"Aunt Ruta, wait! _Wait!"_

The shrill voice of a boy, seven or eight years old, outside of the garden gate. His hair is a shiny hazelnut brown; he wears a short-sleeved, white shirt and breeches, cut off above the knees. The man finds that he has reflexively stepped back into the shadow; long years of forced secrecy make his body still react as if that summer day back in 1998 had never happened. _Old habits are not so easily abandoned, it seems, even here, where no one will recognize his face_.

"Aunt Ruta!"

Now he sees the woman in question; tall and slender, hair of the same color as the boy's. She wears a skirt and a blouse made of thin cotton, the sleeves rolled up, and a wicker basket hangs from her right arm. _A Muggle. _The fact that St. Mary Green is mainly a Muggle community has been one of the most important factors in his decision to rent this cottage.

"Teddy, come here!"

The boy laughs and sticks out his tongue, and the very next moment the garden gate swings wide open and he runs along the graveled path, immediately followed by the woman.

"Teddy, for heaven's sake, out of here, at once! You can't rove about in a stranger's garden!"

"Of course I can!" The boy slows his steps down to a deliberately-provoking amble. "There's no one living in this cottage anyway… all the shutters are closed, and the beds are nothing but weeds, see?"

_His first mistake. He should have granted Winky permission to cast a few careful charms on the garden. _

"Mrs. Ogilvie told me that there's a new tenant. And you will leave him in peace, you little rascal. _Out_ of there, I say."

The boy turns around to her, his sun-freckled face split by a huge grin.

"I want to know what the doorbell sounds like," he says. Now he's very close, nearly standing on the threshold. His aunt is right behind him, and the man can see the embarrassment and dismay in her eyes when she reaches out to grab the boy's shoulder and pull him back. Too late – a loud, melodious ringing ends the silence within the man whirls around, just in time to usher the small figure clad in a spotless white towel back into the kitchen. Unconsciously he straightens his back and takes a deep breath. _It is time to show himself to the outside world anyway… and the encounter with a harmless Muggle woman and her cheeky brat of a nephew should bear no risk whatsoever. _

He opens the door.

The child freezes, eyes big as saucers. The man blinks at the sudden assault of bright daylight. He clears his throat.

"Yes?"

The aunt is the first one to regain her composure. She raises her chin and shows a friendly smile.

"Beg your pardon, sir… but my nephew got a little bit carried away. I am sure he will apologize any moment for disturbing your peace." A sharp gaze at the boy, and suddenly the warm _alto_ voice carries a clear hint of steel. "Now?"

"'m sorry." He shuffles his feet and bits his lower lip, staring down at his sandals.

"I am sorry, _sir."_

"I'm sorry, sir." He dares to look up, and a dimple appears at the corner of his mouth as he meets the dark eyes of the man.

"I won't do it again."

"I won't do it again… sir." The dimple deepens, and the man feels the sudden, unexpected urge to grin. _Cheeky brat indeed._

"And we really should go home now to Gran Dromeda, Teddy. It was very nice to meet you, Mr…"

"Seeker… Stephen Seeker." It is the name he has used to sign the rental agreement, and it still feels strange on his tongue. "No harm done."

"Oh – but my nephew is not the only one to have forgotten good manners." The woman holds out her hand. "Welcome in St. Mary Green, Mr. Seeker. My name is Ruta Lupin, and this is my nephew, Teddy Lupin."

For a second or two the man doesn't answer; her eyebrows rise in a gesture of polite surprise and he forcibly wills himself to speak.

"My pleasure." He hears his own voice, low and grating, as it must sound to her ears, then gives a short stiff nod. "If you'll excuse me now…" It is probably rather rude to close the door right in her face, but at this very moment he doesn't care. He stands behind the thick wood, listening to the steps of his two visitors swiftly moving away. He can also hear the voice of Ruta Lupin, giving her nephew a soft but thorough lecture about proper behavior.

His hands are clenched to fists, and when he slowly opens them again, methodically flexing his fingers, he notices the sweat on his brow and on the back of his neck, slowly trickling into his collar.

_Remus' son – of course. He should not be surprised. Harry Potter lives barely three miles away, and he would certainly choose a home close to the boy; he would try to be a better godfather than Sirius ever had the chance to be._

He swallows hard.

_He is not prepared for this – what has he been thinking? This is pure madness. _

"Master?" Winky's voice, squeaky and a little bit anxious. "Is Master well? Shall Winky serve his breakfast now?"

Suddenly he feels very tired.

"No, Winky. Thank you, but – no. I seem to have lost my appetite."

_This is madness._

_vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv _

**Author's note:**  
This story (that will now definitely have a prologue and 19 chapters) was strongly inspired by the marvelous, little tale _Asphodel and Wormwood_ by my friend _rabidsamfan._ You don't necessarily have to read it in advance (and if you want to be surprised, you shouldn't), but I highly recommend to read it anyway (you'll find it on my Favourites list). _rabid_ is also my beta, and I can't thank her enough for her sharp eye (and tongue), for her patience, her humor and her priceless help.


	2. A house elf named Winky

Chapter One  
**A house elf named Winky**

"Dromeda? Do you need anything from the market?"

Ruta Lupin stood in the kitchen of the little house Andromeda Tonks kept in St Mary Green, putting her purse into the big wicker basket she always used when she did some grocery shopping.

"No, dear!" The voice from the elder woman came from upstairs where she was doubtlessly tidying the most recent mess Teddy had made of his room. "We're going over to Berwick, to see Ginny Potter. She's invited us for lunch."

Andromeda Tonks was justifiably proud of her skill with cleaning spells – a skill which had only been honed further when she took on the care of her orphaned grandson. Ruta could manage well enough, but her own expertise was in the magical support of growing things. During her time at Hogwarts she had thoroughly enjoyed Professor Sprout's classes. The durable spell against mildew on expensive _floribundae_ she had developed during her last year had been one of the main reasons for the _Outstanding_ she gained in her Herbology N.E.W.T

Ruta smiled, reaching for her cardigan on the peg beside the door.

"Tell her I'll come over the day after tomorrow," she called. "I think Harry should be back then, along with Professor Longbottom… if his grandmother feels better, that is."

Ruta really looked forward to seeing Neville Longbottom again. He was young enough to be her son – well, nearly – she'd graduated from Hogwarts just before his first birthday. But very few people shared her passion for gardening as much as the tall, unassuming young man who taken on the Herbology classes at Hogwarts after Pomona Sprout retired two years ago. There'd been a good bit of fuss about that – Neville was one of the youngest professors Hogwarts had ever known – but Ruta hadn't been surprised when he was offered the post. She'd been corresponding with Neville off and on ever since her cousin Remus had described a plump, shy Gryffindor living in the shadow of Harry Potter and his more outgoing friends.

Ruta left the house, walked through the garden and made her way down the road. Every Saturday morning the farmers from the area came to the village, selling fruits and greens, but also sheepskins and pottery. Most of the vegetables served on her table Ruta cultivated in her own kitchen garden, but today she hoped to find a special sheep cheese to spice up her dinner this evening.

She ambled along the hedges and wooden fences, suddenly catching a glimpse of the cottage she had involuntarily visited three days ago. Teddy had been sulking over the lecture he'd been read over his pranking ever since and it hadn't helped that Andromeda had repeated the lecture chapter and verse the moment she'd heard about the escapade. The visit to Berwick would be a highly welcome distraction for both the boy and his grandmother.

Her well-trained gardener's eye noted with hearty approval the beds, freed from their stifling cover of nettles and dandelions. The thorny copse close to the fence had been removed, replaced by long rows of Dahlia plants, blooming in happy colors.

She had already passed the garden when she suddenly stopped, frowning. Of course a skilled hand could turn the chaos of a long neglected garden to clearly arranged beauty… but she had made her way past that cottage yesterday in the late afternoon. And she could have sworn that at that time the garden had looked much the same as it had the day Teddy decided to find out about the sound of the doorbell.

She turned around, her frown deepening.

_No one, not even the best gardener could do all this work overnight… unless he was a wizard._

But then why had he chosen to live here in St Mary Green, instead of moving to Berwick with its much larger wizard population? In Berwick no one would have wondered about a change happening all of a sudden… it was completely normal to use a wand over there.

Ruta herself had moved to St Mary Green after cousin Remus and his wife died in the last battle against Voldemort to support Andromeda, who had been more than devastated by the loss of husband, daughter and son-in-law in this grim, desperate war, and was now confronted with caring for the last remaining member of her immediate family. Ted Tonks had inherited the cottage from his parents, and Andromeda swore that his small namesake should grow up in the family home. But Ruta suspected that the truth was that Andromeda felt rather comfortable in this small Muggle community. She could always visit friends in Berwick whenever she wished to, and those visits happened even more often since Harry Potter, Teddy's legendary godfather, had settled down in the sleepy little wizard village down the valley.

Ruta allowed her thoughts to wander back to her first visit to St Mary Green. It had been the day that Remus married Nymphadora, and suddenly she saw the bride clearly in front of her inner eye… _such happiness despite all danger, such hope despite Remus' fear and more than palpable misgivings._ Ruta had brought the bride's bouquet as Remus' emissary that morning, and ended up helping with the preparations before the bridal party had headed for Berwick. Ted Tonks had been calm enough, but poor Andromeda had been nearly as apprehensive as the groom. Dora's mother had felt an honest affection for her future son-in-law, but his special… _problem_ had been a hard pill to swallow. To find a relative from the Lupin side who seemed "normal" to her and loved gardening even more than she did was a balm for her nerves, and they had established a deep, rapidly growing friendship, hardened in the fires of the ordeal that followed.

_Now all that was left was the boy. _

She'd been rooted to the same spot for several minutes now, staring into emptiness; when her eyes focused on the garden of the cottage again, she noticed that the new inhabitant stood on the path beside one of the beds, looking at her.

It was the first time that she had the chance to catch more of him than the short glimpse from three days ago, cut off when he slammed the door right in her face. He was tall, taller than her, and she was no small woman. His face was long and narrow, bearing the fading memory of a dark sun tan. _Perhaps he had spent some time in warmer countries._His hair was short and neatly trimmed, jet black, but with fine, grey strands. His features were not those of a young man, but they seemed strangely _ageless_ to her – as if time had decided to give him a break before it mercilessly pushed him towards his later years.

She pulled herself together, raising her hand in a casual wave.

"Good morning!" she called. "You must think I'm stupid… I didn't notice you at all. I was daydreaming."

She had expected him to turn around without a word and to vanish into his house; but to her surprise, he stepped closer, dark eyes fixed on her without a smile.

"Daydreaming about what, Miss… Lupin, isn't it?"

Ruta turned her gaze away to the dahlias between them, following a sudden impulse and saying the first thing that came into her mind.

"About your gardening skills, actually." She smiled at him. "Yesterday I came along this fence and thought about offering you a helping hand with your overgrown beds and all those stinging nettles. And now I return after only one night has passed, and all of a sudden your garden would be the pride of any country lady in the area."

His eyes narrowed, and she saw a sudden flash of interest, paired with cold watchfulness.

"You will undoubtedly tell me about your conclusions now." His voice was nearly as dark as his eyes, a little raspy as if he recently hadn't been using it very often.

"First of all: I think you are a wizard, sir. And even though I'm pretty certain of this – I don't believe you worked all these wonders all on your own." She raised one hand, showing him the calloused palm with the faint traces of soil, deeply engraved in the skin. "A true gardener doesn't always use a wand… and many even forget their gloves from time to time. Like me." She gazed down at his hand._Long, slender fingers, the palm also marked by calluses._"You clearly use your hands, but there's no soil anywhere," she airily remarked. "Whatever you have worked with, it has nothing to do with outdoor gardening."

She met his eyes again; the former wariness had been replaced by something that looked like faint amusement.

"Now you will ask me if I have a wife."

"Quite unlikely," she said, again without thinking. "You don't look like a married man."

"Oh?" He still didn't smile, but one eyebrow rose steeply towards his hair line.

"I think it more likely that you have a house elf," she said, remembering a small figure floating a number of pots through the aisles of the greenhouse at_ Fionnula Flannagan's Fascinating Flowers _the day before.

"I have indeed. Bravo, Miss Lupin," he said with what almost looked like a bow. "Her name is Winky. Was it her obsession with dahlias that gave me away?"

Ruta laughed.

"Only her astonishing swiftness… but I guess working more slowly would have been entirely against her nature."

"Very true. But I shall advise her to be more cautious from now on."

"And I should like to meet her sometime, if you don't mind. I barely get to see any house elves these days."

"She is very shy."

He stepped back, and she understood at once that her last remark had overturned the balance between a casual talk among neighbors and something he clearly saw as an intrusion, however unintended.

"I have to leave, Miss Lupin." He gave a short, stiff nod. "Like last time, it was a pleasure to meet you. My best regards to your boy... Teddy?"

"Teddy, yes. But he's not mine, except as a loan. He's being raised by his grandmother." Something flickered in his gaze, and she added: "His parents are dead, both of them."

"How very tragic." There was no dismay in his voice; it was a quiet statement, and he seemed to draw back even further into his invisible shell. "I guess he should be thankful that there are people who care for his well-being."

"He is, most of the time." Ruta answered his bow with a weak, polite smile; somehow she felt as if she had firmly been put into her place."Goodbye, Mr. Seeker."

"Farewell, Miss Lupin."

Slightly confused and more than a little irritated she watched him walk back into the house. Talking with that man had felt like one of the more complicated tests during her seventh year at Hogwarts, and she wasn't entirely sure what to make of Stephen Seeker… she was not even sure if she liked him or not.

_What was he doing here?_

_vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv _

**Author's notes: **

For those who know the gorgeous area of the Lake District, this tale is set in the Eskdale, and the two villages important for the plot are roughly modeled after two really existent places. St. Mary Green is originally _Boot_ (only much bigger, but I kept Eskdale Mill and Packhorse Bridge, and there will doubtlessly be more "original" places while the story goes on), and Berwick (where I made Harry Potter buy a house) is originally _Eskdale Green_. I don't claim that the landscape descriptions are scrupulously correct (in fact I have taken great liberties with those lovely places), but I hope my readers (and the inhabitants of the entire Eskdale) may forgive me.


	3. Garden Fencing

Chapter Two  
**Garden Fencing  
**

Weeks passed, and August fulfilled its promises with blue skies and an unusually small amount of rain. In the Muggle world, buses with hordes of tourists flooded the Lake District. But even though the Eskdale and St. Mary Green were a popular place for wanderers or admirers of the old mill, and the rooms in the _Virgin Inn_ and any holiday homes available were fully booked – to the great satisfaction of the local tourist board - the general run kept within a bearable limit. Sometimes Stephen Seeker saw small groups of wanderers, heavily laden with rucksacks and neatly furled sleeping bags, heading towards Scafell Pike, and he wondered about the strange urge of Muggles to climb up any mountain available; it seemed to him as sensible as the witless up and down of a fly on a window pane.

He still kept his self-imposed solitude. Subscribing to a "normal" newspaper had been a clever step to prevent the people around him from getting suspicious; the postman brought the bills on a regular basis, and Winky did all the grocery shopping in Berwick, which additionally provided him with the _Daily Prophet_. In the mornings he sat close to the kitchen window in a patch of sunlight, idly flipping through the pages, but with the ongoing days the moving images and announcements in the wizard media seemed to him as surreal as the news in any Muggle gazette. They had nothing to do with his life… he wasn't even sure if he had a life at all.

In the years… before… there had at least been the interaction with teachers and students (however detested); now he had only Winky, and she was not the kind of counterpart he found himself longing for. He had not dared to go to Berwick yet; the encounter with the boy and his aunt had been sobering enough to warn him against any spontaneous foray into what now seemed to be an alarmingly alien and dangerous world… a world that held no place for him whatsoever. The risk of being recognized was too much to bear thinking about, and in his darkest moments he struggled with the staggering realization that he held himself in a more effective custody than the Wizengamot could have accomplished by sending him straight away to Azkaban.

The idea that he should safeguard Harry Potter from afar seemed more and more ridiculous; the boy (who wasn't a boy anymore) was easily able to protect himself. Potter had defeated Voldemort after all, and was certainly not in dire need of his (rather rusty) skills. Perhaps it would be better to pull up stakes and to move to where he could make himself really useful.

_Perhaps it would be better to leave before Ruta Lupin turned out to be a problem._

The worst thing (as he thought while staring at the front page of the Daily Prophet without taking in a single word) was that he had actually_enjoyed_ that silly, short conversation between them. The realization that she recognized him as a wizard, simply by taking a short look over his fence, had both shocked and intrigued him. And she had surprised him even more by proving that by no means it could have been he who had put the garden to rights. Her logical conclusions after the quick comparison of their hands had been a small, unexpected glimpse into a mind as clever and sharp as a well-balanced blade. She had caught him off-guard, and she had shattered his laboriously achieved balance.

Better to avoid any further contact.

vvvvv

Following his grim resolution turned out to be easy and difficult at the same time. Ruta Lupin didn't intrude, but he saw her on a daily basis; St Mary Green was a small community and she had to take the way leading past his garden to reach the main road from her own cottage. And while the fact that he was hiding among Muggles filled him with a kind of nervous unease, she seemed to blend in without any visible effort. She wore no wizard robes (at least not here), and the morning when he actually saw her ride past his cottage on a bicycle, giving him a friendly wave, he caught himself staring after her in utter disbelief.

When Ruta came back that afternoon, he had ventured into the garden, sitting on a bench Winky had put beside the entrance and reading in a book about Egyptian potions. There had been a short shower of rain half an hour ago, and he heard the hissing of the bicycle wheels on the warm, damp asphalt, raising his head just in time to see her coming down from the center of the village. She wore what he called her "Muggle uniform" – cotton blouse, fluttering cotton skirt and sandals. A folded cardigan was clamped on the carrier behind her.

"A bicycle, Miss Lupin?" he called, secretly angry at himself for failing to resist temptation, but unable to put a bridle on his tongue. "How very eccentric!"

She jumped down from her vehicle and propped it against the garden wall. Slowly he got up from the bench and came over to her.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Seeker," she replied blithely. "Why eccentric? I work in Berwick, less than three miles from here, and taking my bicycle is a perfectly acceptable way of getting there."

"How about Apparating?" He tried his best to banish a certain arrogance from his voice, but given the twitch of her lips he didn't completely succeed. "Or using a broom?"

"And scare the blissfully ignorant farmers around St. Mary Green silly? But yes, Mr. Seeker, I do have a broom, and not for sweeping my front yard. I never made it into a Quidditch team, but I'm very well able to keep myself on my _Cleansweep Nine_ without crashing."

"Not a _Bluebell_?" he said, still unable to hold back.

"I'm not the type of witch for a family model," Ruta answered, her tone a little bit more serious. "And to come back to the bicycle – I use it for the same reasons Muggles do. To keep myself in shape… and because I like to exercise in fresh air." A critical gaze, surveying him from head to toe. "You could do with a bit more light and air yourself. It must be months since you've been in the sun for more than a few minutes."

_She was doing it again_. He cleared his throat.

"You work in Berwick?"

"Yes, I do, at _Fionnula Flannery's Fascinating Flowers_. If you are in need of ivy plants able to overgrow your entire cottage overnight, you would find them there."

"Why should I need them?" he shot back, his face unmoving. "To scare my blissfully ignorant fellow citizens silly?"

Ruta Lupin began to laugh; a bright, happy sound that made him stare at her. She was not what he would have called a beauty; heavy-lidded eyes of a slate blue, high cheekbones, a narrow, long nose and a mouth, slightly too big to match the proportions of her plain, angular face. But her laughter transformed her completely – not by making her lovelier, but by giving her an air of indomitable joy and vividness. He felt the corners of his mouth curl, unable not to respond to her easily kindled sense of humor.

"_Touché_," she said. "That was well-deserved. And the magical plants are far more popular in Berwick. I do often get orders from the Muggle families in St Mary Green, though, for weddings, birthday parties and funerals; they like the fact that my tulips, roses and violets take much longer to wilt."

"An _Enduro_-spell?" he asked.

"Kind of," she said, her eyes dancing. "But you don't seriously expect me to reveal one of my most precious professional secrets, do you?" She stepped back from the fence, setting her bicycle back on the road. "And now I have to go home; I've promised Teddy's grandmother I'd cook dinner."

He had intended to bear her a polite farewell, but instead he heard himself say:

"It must be difficult for her to get on with such an agile, strong-willed child all alone."

She turned back to him, eyeing him thoughtfully. In fact he felt thoroughly appraised, and he hid his sudden tension behind a mask of even-tempered patience.

"She does her best," Ruta finally said, "and she loves Teddy, very much. But the first two years were rather painful. Andromeda lost nearly her entire family. Her daughter, Dora, and her son-in law died in the battle of Hogwarts in 1998, and her husband had already been killed before." She fell silent, and a shadow clouded her face. "This is why I came here. We had a lot in common, and I wanted to help her."

He knew that he had no right or prudent reason to ask.

"What is it that you had in common?"

Ruta Lupin's eyes darkened with an old anger.

"The loss of relatives, Mr. Seeker," she quietly said. "Teddy's father, Remus, was my cousin. And in case that you don't own the helpful literature to give you a clue – in one of the bestselling books written after Voldemort's defeat he is called 'the faithful werewolf'".

This time it was Ruta who abruptly turned away and left him standing in the garden. He watched the strangely stiff back and the raised head, realizing that for a change he had managed to get through her defenses. But it was a bitter victory, for any satisfaction he might have felt was erased by an overwhelming sense of unease. _The faithful Werewolf._ That definitely smelled of Rita Skeeter and her Quick-Quotes Quill -- the malevolent mixture of gossip and feigned commiseration she was famous (and feared) for.

With sudden clarity he remembered Remus as a strangely reluctant part of the Marauders, his eyes turned away, his back tense and his voice – though never really objecting – softly murmuring a word or two of disapproval and even distaste, on the occasions when James decided to set the dogs loose. For the first time he allowed himself to ponder how much worse it could have been without Remus' discreet attempts to keep his coltish companions at bay.

He had barely been able to value Lupin's resistance back then, of course… his feelings, his hate and desperate abhorrence had been focused mostly on James and Sirius, like a dark burning glass. It had been because of them that he tried to spy out Remus' whereabouts as a student, and the memory of old pain had shaped their year as colleagues. He had only brewed the Wolfsbane Potion because Albus Dumbledore had asked him to - determined to keep the old, angry animosity alive - and still Remus had, in a way, impressed him with his quiet thankfulness and dignity, each time he was handed the draught that kept him sane during the change. In spite of that, he had justified letting the truth about Lupin's… _problem_… slip out after Sirius Black's escape from the Dementors. Had thought of it as a late revenge for long-past pain and mortification, in spite of the certain knowledge that Remus had never once been the first to begin the torment.

He knew too much about the general attitude of the Wizarding World towards werewolves not to be able to imagine how incredibly difficult the time after his year as a teacher in Hogwarts must have been for the man – knew all too well what it meant to act on both sides not to understand the pressure that Lupin had been subjected to as he became Dumbledore's spy among the werewolves - and yet it was only now that he felt a sting of honest sympathy towards Remus Lupin. Foolish or not, Lupin had abandoned any fragile blessings he'd finally gained to rush to Hogwarts' defense when the Second Battle began… only to lose everything, the woman he had finally allowed himself to love, and in the end his own life.

Another memory filled his mind. James and Sirius and Remus crowded around him, pounding him fondly on the back, and thanking him, in that bright, dreamlike place he had left, to use the second chance he had been given. _The chance Remus never had got._

Suddenly he was able to shake off the paralysis; he hurried through the garden gate, reaching Ruta just as she was about to mount her bicycle.

"Miss Lupin."

She didn't look at him. "Yes?"

"Are you ashamed of your cousin?"

Ruta whirled around, and now the hidden anger in her eyes was a blazing fire. "Merlin, _no!_ How can you possibly believe…"

He raised his hands. "I can't, and I won't. From all I know of Remus Lupin, he was a true friend and an honorable man."

He saw the anger slowly trickle out of her body.

"Thank you." She spoke with a kind of disbelieving wonder. "Thank you for your comfort and sympathy."

"This has nothing to do with comfort or sympathy," he said, his tone brusque. "It is a simple fact."

Her gaze held his.

"I know," she said, "but if the wish to put balm on my old wounds was important enough for you to leave your garden and to come after me, I fear you will have to accept my gratitude – even if it goes against the grain. Goodbye, Mr. Seeker."

"Good bye. Miss Lupin."

He watched her leave, silently pondering the words he had spoken. To his surprise he felt the weight of an old burden actually lift from his heart; rancid rage, desperately nurtured over the years until it clouded his gaze and ability to judge and poisoned what was left of his soul. Now he knew that he could at last abandon it, and whether the relief was imaginary or not, he was able to breathe easier.

_A true friend and an honorable man._

Stephen Seeker stood in the bright light of day, filling his lungs with the smell of summer and evaporating rain, and he finally accepted that he had told her the truth.

vvvvv

Planned or not, this was the end of his self-imposed isolation, and the beginning of what he called in retrospect "the time of garden fencing". In the mornings, when Ruta set off to Berwick, she usually gave him a short nod or wave before she vanished around the bend to the main road of St. Mary Green. In the afternoons, however, she developed the habit of parking her bicycle on the sidewalk, waiting for him to come out of the cottage and start a duel of words.

She had graduated from school in 1980. Aside from outstanding achievements in Herbology she had been a quiet, inconspicuous student ("No teacher except Professor Sprout would remember without having to consult the records," she remarked with a smile).

He did consult the records – which was rather difficult, but not impossible – and found a few interesting facts. She had been a Ravenclaw (which he had more or less expected), she had never been a Prefect, much less Head Girl, but he found more than half a dozen teacher reviews attesting her attributes like "quick cleverness" and a "cold-blooded presence of mind". The latter came from Madam Hooch; when Ruta was in her second year and a classmate banged with her practice broom into the teacher who was just demonstrating how to do a rollover, she kept both from crashing to the ground by using an _Immobilus _Spell.

To his surprise he discovered that while still a student, she had authored a monograph about the several uses of _Mandragora Vernalis_; excerpts of that monograph had actually been published in _Magical Herbology Today_, and they caused a small uproar in academic circles because she contradicted the widely accepted doctrine of Phyllida Spore about the effect against the _Pestis_ Curse (that became alarmingly popular when the Dark Lord gathered his armies in the late seventies). After the publication in 1980 Pomona Sprout took sides with her student - which led to a rather heated correspondence between her and Spore and an ongoing argument that took years to cool down.

Increasingly curious, he provided himself an edition of the magazine in question and found Ruta Lupin's arguments on the matter neatly researched, well worded and absolutely convincing. Suddenly he remembered a visit Phyllida Spore had made to Hogwarts when her book _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ had just been included in the curriculum. She had been an impressive and exceedingly formidable old witch, and he could readily imagine her indignant surprise at the fact that a completely unknown seventh-year student had had the brazenness to dispute one of her theories.

Given all he had discovered he was more surprised than ever that she had buried herself in a tiny Muggle village. One afternoon he asked: "Given your skills with herbs and plants, I am surprised that you never considered a teaching career."

Ruta stood on the other side of the fence, as usual; today she wore a blue dress, her hair held back by a thin scarf of the same color. Waiting for a reply, he studied her high clear brow and the faint shimmer of freckles on the bridge of her nose and on her cheekbones.

"Oh, I did," she said absently. "I did indeed. Pomona Sprout would have liked to see me as her assistant, and I felt very flattered by her offer, but the timing was a bit… unfavorable."

She fell silent, a deep, vertical line between her eyebrows.

"The Potters were killed, and Voldemort was banished – you'd have thought that made things easier, but in my case it didn't."

Another long pause, and he waited patiently, wisely refraining from pushing the matter. Finally she continued, her voice soft and slightly strained.

"My mother fell ill and passed away soon after. My father had always been a strong man, but her death ate up his courage, and I didn't dare to leave him alone."

"A missed chance for scholastic glory… don't you regret it?" Stephen Seeker remarked.

"Glory?"

Ruta laughed.

"Pounding the basics of Herbology into the heads of students who would rather be somewhere else never struck me as glorious, Mr. Seeker. And it's so much time indoors..."

She shrugged.

"Greenhouses are all very fine and well, but they're best for someone who likes their plants in neat rows of pots and not growing wild over walls. No, Neville Longbottom will fill the post better than I ever could. He's had his share of glory."

Her lips twitched.

"And besides, when I did want work my father found me a position. At Corminius Slug's apothecary in Diagon Alley. He promised Father to give me all the practical training I might want."

"Really?" he asked, his tone clearly amused. "If you prefer the open air, I shouldn't care to guess how long you were able to endure the stench."

"I worked there for a year," she said with mock indignation. And then the corners of her mouth curled upward. "And I was heartily sick of the place after three weeks. Poor Uncle Corminius was very disappointed that I never really got fond of beetle eyes and toad slime."

She gave a small sigh.

"My father was disappointed, too, of course, though he thoroughly cherished the fact that I'd run his household for that year. But he had more or less recovered by the end of it, and my noble… erh… _sacrifice_ gnawed at his conscience. I was allowed to search for a job that might actually please me instead of him, and I found it in a small town near Dover. The market garden there had half a dozen magical nurseries and greenhouses and won awards for its new rose varieties; the potion against mildew I had invented was very useful. I liked the job and I liked the ocean; if not for Teddy and Andromeda, I would still be there."

As if the mention of her other responsibilities had reminded her she excused herself then, and Stephen Seeker returned into his cottage for a late tea, pondering what lay behind the friendly, calm face of the woman he nearly saw every day. Talented and clever, she had nonetheless chosen to be ordinary. She didn't begrudge Neville Longbottom the position she'd been forced to reject but spoke about him with warmth and deep sympathy. Whatever she'd wished out of life, she had sacrificed it once to take care of her father, and again to help an old, desperate witch raising her grandchild. He understood that, but still... She seemed to accept each new turn of things – however unpleasant - with some strange, unshakable peace of mind that he could not grasp. Once such a serene lack of ambition would have unnerved and greatly exasperated him, but his own dreams and desires were long since burned to ashes, and now he came to feel a kind of reluctant admiration for the grace with which she had accepted her fate. His own penance had not rested so easily.

"You don't know what to think about me, do you?" she observed three or four days later.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because of how you look at me from time to time - as if you were trying to find the solution for an odd mystery," Ruta said. "You think I should have wanted to reach more, to accomplish more… instead of fiddling around with roses and tulips and burying myself in St. Mary Green, dancing attendance to the needs of a child that is not even mine." She shot him a gaze from the corner of her eye. "That was close, wasn't it?"

He hesitated. "What do you expect me to answer – without proving myself to be hopelessly rude?" He saw her smile and felt his own face relax in return. "I must confess it was not too far off the mark. You seem to know me very well, Miss Lupin."

"Oh no, I don't!" Now it was Ruta who intently studied his face. "Aside from the fact that you are a wizard, I know nearly _nothing_ about you, not even the most basic things. I don't know if you have a family, I have no idea about which books you read or what kind of food you prefer..."

"_Boeuf Stroganoff_," he said automatically. "Winky has a very good recipe, and it will be even better as soon as I succeed in making her believe that the dish should not be drowned in sour cream."

"Thank you!" Ruta laughed. "Another secret solved. And now I must go and keep an eye on Teddy; Andromeda has her weekly tea – a perfect chance to share the newest rumors with the local gossips. Goodbye, Mr. Seeker."

"Have a nice afternoon with that sly little rascal," he said, an ironical glint in his eyes.

"I'll try to do my very best." She pushed her bicycle down from the sidewalk and slowly began to cross the street.

"Miss Lupin?"

She turned back to him again. In the bright, golden back light of the sun he couldn't see her face clearly; the fine strands trying to escape the scarf around her head framed it like a shimmering halo. "Mr. Seeker?"

"Do you play chess?"

"No, I don't. But… perhaps you would like to teach me."

"Perhaps."

When she was already out of sight, he still stood behind the fence, filled with growing chagrin, and facing the fact that even the ordeal of the last twenty-five years had failed to teach him enough to keep from taking most unreasonable risks.


	4. The Medal

Chapter Three  
**The Medal**

Fate bestowed him a reprieve; the next visitor was not Ruta, expecting a first chess lesson, but another member of the family. 

One cool morning Stephen Seeker looked out of the kitchen window shortly after breakfast and discovered Teddy Lupin, crouched beside one of the flowerbeds. He looked down at something Seeker couldn't see. _Escaped from Granny's custody, the little brat,_ he thought with a grimace, grabbed for the jacket hanging over the back of his chair and made his way out into the garden.

His shadow fell over the boy.

"What do you think your aunt would say if she knew that you are here?" he asked in a mild tone.

Teddy looked up, blinking at the tall man.

"She'd give me house arrest," he replied gleefully, "or send me to bed without dinner."

"Neither of which seems to be dreadful enough to keep you on a leash," Seeker said dryly. "And after sneaking into my garden without asking for my permission, would you at least tell me what you are doing?"

Teddy had the decorum to blush; he moved back and revealed a small heap of dried grass and thin twigs that he had piled on the ground beside the stone bordering of the bed. He made a small gesture with his right hand, and suddenly red sparks shot through grass and wood, and a small flame flickered on top of the heap. Any embarrassment in the boy's face vanished like dew in the sun when a thin thread of blue smoke curled into the windless air.

"Gran Dromeda has forbidden me to do this at home, after I set the curtains in her living room on fire - but that was only an accident!" he hastily added.

"I see," Stephen Seeker remarked, hiding his surprise behind a calm, unmoving face. _Creating spontaneous fire without a wand was a rather unusual ability in a child his age._ "You can't expect your grandmother to be overly enthusiastic if you try to burn down her house."

"Aunt Ruta is right," Teddy said with a mischievous grin. "You are _funny._ She says you make her laugh."

"Ah?" Seeker was slightly taken aback – and even more so when he noticed that the boy's hazelnut brown hair had suddenly turned a merry shade of violet. _Firestarter, son of a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus – an interesting blend of bloodlines indeed._

"Come inside - before my Muggle neighbors start to peer over the fence and wonder about your hair color." Teddy raised his eyes from the smoldering little pyre before him and was hit by the full force of a gaze that once had caused dozens of students to duck and freeze like scared rabbits. "And if I were you, Master Lupin, I would _refrain _from attempting to ignite fires as long as you are in my house."

Teddy got up from the ground, stomped the small flames out and followed his host into the cottage, the very picture of childlike innocence and humility.

vvvvv

Stephen Seeker had to blow the dust from _Individual Incarnations Of Amazing Abilities _before he could look up "Firestarters". It had been on the bottom shelf in his study, of course, and he supposed he ought to be glad he owned a copy at all, but it was a standard reference. He flipped pages to the appropriate section. Creating fire was an ability he had seldom discovered among _his_ charges; but he'd had the chance to observe the problem dealt with more than once. The main thing was to give the child a way to cope with unexpected consequences. It took a few minutes to think of an item Teddy could use as a snuffer in case that his dangerous little gift brought him trouble. A handkerchief would do -- with a durable variation of an _Aguamenti_ Charm, to wring enough water out of the thin cloth to cope even with a burning sofa. If the boy carried a handkerchief, of course.

He left the book on his desk and went to check on his uninvited guest. Teddy still sat on the stuffed chair in the living room, intently studying the magnificently illustrated book about dragons Seeker had given him to keep him occupied.

"Have you a handkerchief?" he asked.

Teddy fumbled in his pocket and produced a pristine square of white. "Gran Dromeda says you should _always_ have a handkerchief," he said, with childish ostentation.

"Excellent." Seeker plucked it from the boys' grasp. "Stay here," he ordered, with a daunting expression. _"And don't touch anything."_

Teddy ducked his head and squirmed a little. "But I was going to go to the pastry shop," he protested faintly. "I'm hungry."

Seeker smiled to himself. There was nothing like food to distract a child from his usual occupation of troublemaking. "Stay here," he repeated, a little less sternly, "and I'll have a snack sent in to you."

Winky stood in front of the sink, directing a huge lump of steel wool in busy, scrubbing circles along the bottom of a pot that had contained baked beans.

"Winky, we have a guest."

Her tennis ball-sized eyes grew even bigger, and she swallowed nervously.

"A _guest?_ Master has invited someone into his house?" she squeaked. "But that's _dangerous!"_

"He has invited himself," Seeker gave back, "and right now he's no more dangerous than some lumbering pup – only a bit tiresome. Your experience from Hogwarts should help you to feed him properly." He turned away with a faint echo of his old arrogance, his lips twitching nonetheless. _And may I be at the other end of the world once he's grown into his paws._

By the time he came back into the living room, Winky had done her domestic magic, and Teddy appeared to have worked his way methodically through a huge plate of sugar-drenched Danish pastries. The scent of cocoa came out of a cup beside him on the table. His hair had turned back to its reasonable hazelnut shade, and at the sight of his host he abruptly remembered his manners.

"Fank'ou!" he managed around a mouthful of crispy dough, nut cream and icing. "Taft'f vwy fine!"

"Empty your mouth," Seeker said amicably, "and don't stuff yourself to the brim. I don't want to be made responsible for your upset stomach. – And I will accompany you home as soon as you are finished."

Teddy swallowed.

"I can go home alone!" he said indignantly, wiping his lips with his sleeve and quickly changing to the napkin beside the plate when he noticed Seeker's gaze. "Can I have my handkerchief back again now?"

He took out the charmed handkerchief, and taught Teddy how to handle it in case of an emergency. He was out of practice - or perhaps eight-year-olds simply weren't up to the same standards as older children. Still, after a few minutes, Teddy got the hang of twisting the cloth with the correct emphasis and was able to produce a flow of water. The boy was deeply impressed and honestly appreciative; he reverently stored the useful gift away in his pocket. "Now I can stop getting burns on my sandals!"

"That should be an improvement," Seeker said dryly.

"Please, sir – do you think I could meet your elf? Uncle Harry has one. His name is Kreacher, and he's terribly old, but he's the only one I've ever seen. Uncle Harry's wife's named Ginny, and they have a brand new baby, a little boy. What's the name of your elf?"

Seeker blinked at that sudden barrage of questions and information. _He was definitely out of practice._

"Her name is Winky," he finally said. "You can meet her, if you'd like – but you'd best behave, she is shy and a bit afraid of strangers. And as soon as you have done that, you should return home before your grandmother starts to worry."

Teddy nodded enthusiastically and showed a rather charming smile. "Of course. And I won't frighten your elf, I promise."

Seeker gave a short, polite bow. "I am sure she will be infinitely thankful for your consideration. Winky?"

A round head with flapping ears and lamp-like eyes came into sight. Winky stared at the boy sitting in front of the nearly-empty plate, and Teddy stared back in utter fascination.

"Hello," he said shyly. "I'm Teddy – and thank you for the pastries and the cocoa. That was very friendly of you. They tasted marvelous."

The distrustful expression of Winky's face softened.

"Does young Master perhaps want some apple juice?" she asked.

"Sure!" Teddy jumped down from the chair and followed her into the kitchen, prattling happily about his favorite treats. Winky, who was justifiably proud of her baking, provided him with more things to stuff into his pockets, but as soon as his juice was duly drunk, he waved at Winky and gave his host another bright smile before shooting out of the door to prevent any escort. Seeker shook his head, but he didn't truly mind. The boy could find his way home all right in such a small village. He saw him running along the graveled path and out of the garden gate, and through the half-opened window he could hear him whistling.

His visitor disposed of, Stephen Seeker returned to the study and took a last, thorough look over a letter he'd written the evening before; it was addressed to the only person who knew his former identity and who had been an invaluable help eight years ago when he needed his money and the very few personal things he wished to keep. He removed the blanket from the cage where a brown long-eared owl was sleeping. She opened one yellow eye and gave a drowsy hoot when he took her out and fastened the letter on her leg. Seeker opened the window and saw her flutter away, vanishing behind the small oak grove bordering the back garden of his cottage.

vvvvv

That evening Ruta took over the task of coaxing Teddy Lupin out of the bathtub and into his bed while Andromeda Tonks cast a few helpful spells at pots, plates and cutlery, clearing away the remnants of their dinner.

To say the truth, Ruta enjoyed the banter with Remus' son that Andromeda found so exhausting; Teddy knew very well that the liberties he could take with his Gran were rather difficult to perform when it came to his aunt. Unlike the old woman, Ruta wouldn't hesitate to haul him out of the tub and maneuver him under the covers with a short flick of her willow wand as soon as she got tired of the game. And Teddy was old enough that he found it most embarrassing to be manhandled like a sack of potatoes.

So he sat on the quilted counterpane of his bed after a reasonable span of time, wrapped in a fluffy bath robe, waiting for his aunt to give him new pajamas, and toying with a handkerchief.

"I visited your friend today," he told her.

"My friend?" Ruta turned around to him, frowning. "Who do you… _oh._ Are you talking about Mr. Seeker?"

"Yes," he said with all signs of pride as he carefully tucked the handkerchief under his pillow. "And he wasn't even mad at me when I made a fire in his garden."

_"Teddy!" _Ruta tossed a candy-striped pajama in his direction. "You didn't!"

"He was _not_ mad at me!" Teddy repeated. "_And_ he invited me into his house, and I got to meet his house-elf, and she gave me Danish pastries and cocoa, and..."

"What?" Ruta interrupted the boy. She shook her head. "My goodness, Teddy! You can't impose on someone like that!"

It took all her self-control to keep the dismay she felt out of her voice. In all the weeks since she'd met the new inhabitant of the cottage at the end of the road, she had been careful never to venture further than the sidewalk in front of his garden gate. After that first race up to the door to catch Teddy, she had wanted to assure the reclusive Stephen Seeker that she would respect his boundaries. She knew that he grew more and more relaxed in her presence, and that he sometimes even seemed to be waiting for their regular, noncommittal meetings in the afternoon. But he was still extremely watchful – she counted the tentative invitation to teach her chess as an achievement. Ruta was slightly horrified and at the same time honestly surprised that someone as withdrawn as this complicated, mysterious man had actually surrendered to Teddy's brazen charm.

She picked her nephew's shirt and trousers from the floor, automatically searching the pockets for the remnants of the boy's day… leaves and rolled-up threads, usually, but also nasty surprises like dead frogs and earthworms. _Aha. Only a coin this time._ She pulled her fingers back and gazed at the small item in her hand.

It was not a coin. It was a kind of medal, shaped like an octagon. A gem was set right in the middle, glowing in the light of the candelabra like a drop of blood. It reminded her of something… but of _what?_

"Teddy? Where did you find this?"

Silence.

"Teddy?"

She raised her head and met his eyes; he returned her gaze with an expression of clueless innocence that didn't fool her for a second. She walked over to the bed and sat down beside him; he had turned away and was staring down at the covers, his back strangely stiff.

"Once again, Teddy: where did you find this?"

When he spoke, his voice was very soft. "In a drawer."

"Where? In Mr. Seeker's house?"

"N… no. I mean… yes."

Ruta cleared her throat.

"Did you ask for his permission first?"

"N… no."

"Did he invite you to explore his belongings?"

"No." For the first time he looked at her again, blushing. "But he didn't say not to touch anything until afterwards."

"Aha." She was surprised at the intensity of her anger. _Silly boy._ When she continued, her voice carried a more than palpable hint of frost. "Let's see if I can sum this up correctly. First you storm the garden of a complete stranger and ring his doorbell in a foolish prank. You apologize and promise not to do this again. Three weeks later you return and try to set his garden on fire."

"I _didn't…"_

"Teddy Remus Lupin, I'm not finished yet! For some reason completely beyond my understanding he ignores all that and even rewards you with your favorite treat. He is careless enough to give you access to his home and to feed you, and as soon as he turns his back on you for a few minutes, you ransack his drawers and _steal_ something?"

Teddy hung his head. She got up from the bed and looked down at him, feeling sad and appalled at the same time.

"I have no words to tell you how terribly disappointed I am. You won't leave this house for two weeks. You'll write a letter of apology in the morning. And don't even think about going there _again,_ given your peculiar idea of honesty!"

Ruta turned around, deliberately ignoring the short, inconsequential pang of guilt at the sight of his miserable, little face; she snuffed out the candles, left the room and closed the door behind her.

vvvvv

_She would have to bring it back, of course… as soon as possible._

Ruta sat in her own living room, the medal lying in front of her on the table. Slowly she followed the contour with one fingertip, still trying to figure out where on earth she had seen something like this before. It was heavy enough to be made of gold, and the gem had the exquisite raspberry-pink shade of a ruby. The surface was plain, only decorated with an intricate pattern of interwoven lines… Celtic, perhaps.

_A family heirloom? A kind of honorable decoration for brave deeds long passed?_

But if this were a decoration, there should be some sort of inscription… and there was none. And besides - this was not her business to know. It belonged to a man who would beyond doubt not be pleased at all if he learned of Teddy's theft and her curiosity.

Her inquisitive Ravenclaw spirit and her natural reservation were fighting a fierce battle within her heart. She knew that she had to return this item to him, best unlooked at, best unexamined… but at the same time she felt the growing certainty that she finally held the key to an important part of the mystery that was Stephen Seeker in her hands.

Ruta sighed, rubbing her brow.

_She was no better than Teddy._

Defeated, she opened the drawer on the front side of the table and pulled her wand out, pointing at the medal and thinking furiously. Perhaps…

_"Veritas Revelio!"_

Nothing happened. The ruby returned her guilty, frustrated gaze like a mocking, red eye.

There were two possibilities remaining: either this thing was nothing more than it seemed, a beautiful piece of jewelry… or her Breaking Spell was not strong enough. And if that was the case, Stephen Seeker had put some _real_ effort in shielding this item against unwelcome eyes.

She pointed at the medal again, summoning whatever power she possessed and concentrating with all her might.

_"Finite Incantatem!"_

This time something happened. The pattern of lines started to flow, sending regular ripples of gold over the surface as if she had thrown a stone into a pond. The ruby sparkled, seemingly rising from the medal - and then, all of a sudden, it was gone and the lines settled into their final arrangement.

She looked down at the medal, holding her breath. It was not made of gold but of brass, and now she _knew_ where she had seen something like this before.

It was an Order of the Merlin. Remus had been awarded the Order of the Merlin, First Class posthumously… just in time to be buried with it. She remembered the bitter morning when she stood at his open grave, one arm around the shaking form of Andromeda Tonks, forced to face two coffins with two fallen lovers. She remembered her thought: _An order… what a poor compensation for lost lives and lost chances._

Her fingers turned the medal, and she read the engraved words on the backside. The very next moment one hand flew up to her mouth and she sat staring at the beautifully shaped letters, numb with shock.

_For a secret, selfless fight, for unerring faithfulness and a most noble sacrifice  
Severus Snape (1960 – 1998)_


	5. Legacy of the past

Chapter Four  
**Legacy of the Past  
**

Ruta didn't follow the first impulse that told her to walk right over to Stephen Seeker's cottage and to confront him with her brand new knowledge. She was shaken enough not to know what to say to him anyway; she had to sort her thoughts, to regain her composure first.

_Severus Snape._

The _Nemesis_ of her cousin's younger days. The man Remus had always spoken of with an odd mixture of silent anger and guilt. The man who brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for her cousin and then with cold deliberateness revealed the truth about the cruel curse in his blood. The man who had – as a boy – been the target of the merciless mobbing from Remus' friends, with him doing close to nothing to stop them.

Remus left his position as a teacher and was hardly able to find a decent job again. Ruta remembered only too well how upset she had been, watching him getting more tired and haggard whenever she saw him after his precipitous departure from Hogwarts in 1994. But Remus hadn't held Snape to blame. _I could have kept James and Sirius from harrying Severus all those years ago,_ he had told her when they met for the last time, shortly before the final battle against the Dark Lord. _But I never did. I will never know if things could have been different with a little more courage and modesty from my side._

In the light of her newest information it felt decidedly strange to realize that she and the man who called himself Stephen Seeker had actually studied in Hogwarts at the same time, at least for the span of five years. Ruta had been aware of the ongoing battle between the older boys, the Slytherins and the Gryffindors, only from a distance. Remus had adamantly barred her from taking his part, from getting involved in this dirty guerrilla warfare. _You are here to learn, little one,_ he said to her after she had been sorted into Ravenclaw, torn between pride and the bitter disappointment that she couldn't share her cousin's house. _Things are difficult enough as it is. So far no one knows what I am, and I'm afraid that you might get hurt, too, as soon as the wrong people find out about the truth. The Slytherins... well, lets just say that there are people who would have no qualms about trampling you down, too, if you got under their feet._

She had accepted his wish, keeping out of the way and concentrating on her studies - which had been easy, for she loved to learn, and Hogwarts was a world full of new, fascinating lore and knowledge. And the dark times beyond the castle walls offered enough menace to keep her from any desire to attract attention. She had trusted in the hope that Remus was right, and kept her head down, and so Snape had been nothing more than a pale, slightly menacing shadow, hidden in the Slytherin dungeons, a dubious figure she had trained herself to avoid. And this figure, this distant shadow, had nothing to do with the man she knew now, the man she had discovered within these last few weeks… that mysterious stranger who had found words of comfort and unexpected praise about the "faithful werewolf":

_After all I know about Remus Lupin, he was a true friend and an honorable man._

Ruta sat beside her bedroom window, wrapped in a shawl and waiting for the sun to rise. Her eyes were burning, but she was unable to sleep, thoughts milling in her head like a crazy maelstrom. How did the pieces of the jigsaw she already knew fit into the bigger image?

Severus Snape lay buried on the grounds of Hogwarts, close to the legendary Headmaster's tomb – side by side with the man he had killed himself with an Unforgivable Curse, following Albus Dumbledore's own plan. But if she was right… if the medal spoke the truth and had been stolen from the house of its righteous owner, the grave of the former Potions Master was empty. If she was right, the most contradictory hero of the long underground fight against the Dark Lord was right now hiding in a tiny Muggle village in the Lake District.

She got up and went over to her bed; on a shelf she kept a few books meant to serve as an easy bedtime reading (and those that didn't fit anywhere within her well thought out system of order). Among them was one book an old school mate had sent her a free copy of a few years ago. _For the sake of the good old times,_ Vicky Stone – who worked in the editorial staff of the _Daily Prophet_ now - had told her in the note that came with the package. Since in her first year as a Ravenclaw Ruta had steadfastly refused to let Vicky "borrow" her homework in Herbology, there had been a silent but intense hostility between them. And to gift her with the latest dubious creation by Rita Skeeter was a rather perfidious kind of late revenge. It had been Rita Skeeter who in this special book came up with the soppy label "faithful werewolf" for Remus, and only Ruta's general dislike of vandalism kept her from burning it on the spot after having flipped through the pages.

The glossy cover of _Harry Potter – The True Story Of The Boy Who Lived _showed the title in boastful golden letters, and below the title Teddy's godfather, his face magically changing from the chubby cheeks of an eleven-year-old first year to the clearly defined features of a grown-up man. The green eyes behind his glasses were wary and a little annoyed. Harry had once told her that he'd actually agreed to help Rita with her book – _simply to keep her as close to the truth as possible,_ he'd said with a wry grin, _and because it would have been much worse without my participation._

Ruta skipped the first part of the book and found a dozen pages in the middle that were full of photos – one of Harry Potter's parents, waving happily from a lawn in front of their house in Godric's Hollow, Baby Harry on Lily's arm, showing a toothless smile. She saw a photograph of Albus Dumbledore, peering over his small, rectangular glasses, and another one of the Marauders. There they stood, side by side at the edge of the Hogwarts lake – James and Sirius, surrounded by an air of strong, confident youth, and Remus, the expression of his face speaking of a faint surprise and an overwhelming thankfulness that he actually should be included in a group of real friends.

Ruta refused to take in the sight of the fourth Marauder. _Peter Pettigrew was dead anyway… they all were._

She turned the page and saw a reproduction of the front page from the May 31st, 1998 edition of the Daily Prophet. There was Harry again, his face grim and determined, standing in a room that Ruta immediately recognized as the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts.** "HARRY POTTER SAYS: SEVERUS SNAPE WAS A HERO!"** the headline proclaimed, but Ruta's full attention was fixed on the portrait hanging above Harry's head. It showed the tall figure of a man, clad in a black cloak with the silver and green emblem of Slytherin on his shoulder. His arms were folded in front of his chest, and dark eyes under black brows stared past the observer with an expression of sternness and faint contempt.

_His hair was longer back then,_ Ruta thought, _but he still likes to wear black. And the face…_

That man was younger, but at the same time - strangely enough - he seemed to be _older._ The need for absolute secrecy, the insanely dangerous life as a double agent, faithful to Dumbledore and at the same time a Death Eater, close to the Dark Lord, had etched deep crinkles into his brow. Sharply engraved lines ran down from his long nose to the corners of his mouth.

_What had he been forced to do when Dumbledore sent him out to pull the wool over Voldemort's eyes? Did they make him kill or torture someone? Had he been hurt himself?_

And how on earth had he managed to survive?

Suddenly Ruta became aware of the sunlight warming her face; she hadn't noticed that the room was beginning to fill with the clear, blue brightness of a new August morning. She got up from her chair, straightening her back.

It was time.

She took a bath, washed and dried her hair and slipped into a fresh dress. For a moment she contemplated breakfast, but her stomach was in too many knots. Within the next hour she would have to go to Berwick, or send an owl to notify Fionnula that she meant to take the day off. But whatever she decided, first she had to find out the truth.

Five minutes later she stood on the doorstep of Stephen Seeker's cottage.

vvvvv

She pulled at the slim chain hanging beside the door and heard the faint ringing of a bell from inside. At first there was no reaction, and the seconds stretched nearly long enough to make her courage waver. But before she could turn away, half relieved that she'd escaped the immediate confrontation, she heard steps approaching, and the very next moment the door opened.

"Miss Lupin?"

He looked at her with mild perplexity; only too understandable, for this was the first time in weeks that she had ventured further than his garden gate.

"Good… good morning," she said, her voice thin and nervous. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

"No, you didn't. I was just going to have breakfast." He frowned, studying her a bit closer. "You look as if you haven't slept. Is the boy all right?"

_He had no idea._ Ruta helplessly stifled the irrational urge to laugh. "Yes. No. Teddy's safe in bed, but..." She hadn't yet found the right words.

Seeker's frown deepened. "Still, something is wrong – very wrong, I suspect, to put you in such a state," he stated, his tone slightly impatient. "Come inside and explain."

She walked past him as if in a dream, and caught a short glimpse of her face in a round mirror on the wall of the small vestibule. _Deadly pale, eyes huge with panic and rimmed by dark shadows… no wonder that the mere sight of her was enough to alarm him._

"Sit down, Miss Lupin," he said, as they reached the living room. "I'll be right back." The kitchen door closed behind him.

Hesitatingly she settled in a stuffed chair. The room had obviously undergone some drastic changes since Stephen Seeker began living here. What had once been a Muggle cottage with electric light and most of the other attributes of modern civilization, was now decidedly the home of a wizard. Two chests of drawers and a big wardrobe with a richly carved front had replaced the former furniture, a carpet in warm colors covered the shining wooden floor, and on a huge oak wood table a high pile of leather-bound volumes bore witness of Stephen Seeker's love for books. It was a very _masculine _room and astonishingly comfortable, and to her surprise Ruta felt herself slowly relaxing.

The kitchen door opened again, and Seeker appeared, carrying a tray with plates, mugs and all the ingredients for an enormous breakfast. Ruta felt her nostrils widen when an enticing cloud of smells wafted over to her. His lips twitched in a half-smile.

"You look like a tired pony at the sight of the drinking trough," he remarked, placing the tray on the table and removing the books. "Winky agreed to brew some extra coffee for you; but she refuses to come out and greet you." He filled a cup for her and – without asking – added a good amount of sugar and cream. She accepted it, warming her hands on the fine, white china, and took a first sip.

"Thank you… that's delicious," she slowly said. "And my best regards to Winky, too… I'm not surprised that she refuses to leave the kitchen. You told me that she's very shy."

"Well, she got along with Teddy rather well when he stormed my house yesterday," he gave back, helping himself to tea, toast and scrambled eggs from a silver bowl. "But I think an unknown witch – let alone one I've recently begun to actually talk to on a regular basis – is too much for her peace of mind. She finds my growing… _sociability_… quite disturbing."

_And she's got a fine instinct,_ Ruta thought, feeling the medal she had wrapped in a handkerchief burn a hole in the pocket of her dress. She cleared her throat.

"I know this is not… not our usual way to meet, Mr. Seeker," she said. "But I fear we have a case of emergency."

"How very cryptic," he replied, a strange glint in his eye. "Did that young rascal do more than accidentally burning his grandmother's curtains?"

For a moment Ruta stared at him, wondering how he'd pumped that embarrassing little secret from Teddy. Then she took a deep breath, hell-bent on getting over with both, her confession and her inquiry.

"Yes," she said. "He took something when he was here yesterday." She pulled the handkerchief-wrapped medal out of her pocket, but found herself reluctant to pass it back to its owner. "He abused your hospitality, and what is worse, I have abused your trust."

"In what way?" His voice was cool; she could find no surprise in the calm tone… _as if being betrayed was nothing new or unexpected._

"He stole a medal he found in one of your drawers and hid it in his pocket; I'm sure he meant no evil, but that doesn't make things better. Especially after I couldn't keep myself from indulging my own curiosity."

"Oh. Did you?"

"Yes, I did, to my deepest regret," Ruta said, staring down at the package in her hands. "I gave Teddy house arrest, took the medal and went home. The shape of it reminded me of something… I could tell it had been enchanted... So I tried _Veritas Revelio_, but it didn't work. And then I changed to _Finite Incantatem_."

She unwrapped the medal and laid it beside her untouched plate on the table, the backside up, the letters of the solemn inscription glittering in the bright morning sun.

She waited. What she had done had been unforgivable, and she knew it. He'd be within his rights to throw her out the door. It seemed a very long time before he spoke.

_"For a secret, selfless fight, for unerring faithfulness and a most noble sacrifice,"_ Stephen Seeker recited, without bending down to read the words, his voice very soft. And then his tone changed. "Terribly pretentious, and absolutely misleading to boot."

She raised her head and looked at him. His lips formed a thin, white line.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because those words were the result of sheer generosity." He got up from his chair and stepped away from her. "In a way it is rather… _humiliating_ that a boy I have been despising and mistreating for six years paid me back by transforming me into a Pillar Saint."

"He did not!" Ruta protested without thinking. "It was an act of honesty… and of honor. I know Harry Potter – he has a fierce, unerring sense of justice."

"Unlike me?" His tone was cold and mocking, but there was something else, too. _Hurt? Silent anger?_

"How should I know?" she fired back. "I could consult the books that have been written since the defeat of the Dark Lord - I'm sure I have a choice between a dozen interpretations."

She saw his back turn rigid. "What keeps you from picking the most popular one, then? That would be simplest, wouldn't it?."

"During the last twenty years I have learned that the important things in life are neither popular nor simple," Ruta said, her heart heavy with old memories and new regret. "And if you want me to leave, I shall."

She cleared her throat.

"But it is true. You _are_ Severus Snape."

"I was, once," he said. The tension slowly left his body, and his voice was infinitely tired. "And - to satisfy your thirst for knowledge - I owe my life to Winky. I convinced her to pledge her loyalty to me when she lost her master and the family she'd been bound to, and she has been my servant ever since. She came to save me with phoenix tears, and she gave me the Draught of the Living Death, to buy me the time to wait until I could escape unnoticed. But I did not change my identity for nothing, Miss Lupin. I have little interest in reviving the man I used to be."

Ruta let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She'd had no idea what to expect from him. Blazing rage, perhaps, deliberate denial or sarcastic laughter... even a lightning-fast spell, a cold voice, hissing _"Obliviate!" _ and erasing her memory like a wiped-out blackboard. But instead he had given her the immediate confirmation of her guess, and now her head was spinning with excitement and wonder.

He turned back to her and their eyes met; no doubt, this was the face of the man on the portrait, and yet it was not. Most of the brooding anger and contempt were gone. The lines she remembered hadn't been wiped out completely, the years and the torturous experience of walking in the darkness far too long had left their combined mark. _And still..._

She wasn't entirely able to figure out what it was that had worked the change - but changed he was. Suddenly she thought of an empty shell she once found while walking along the coast near the cliffs of Dover. Wind, saltwater and sand had erased the content, rinsing the shell until nothing was left but the empty, white case. This man had been stripped of his nightmares as well as of his wishes and ambitions, and what she now saw in front of her eyes was the shell of his former existence, still waiting to be filled with something new.

She took the medal from the table and held it out onto him.

"You should take it back," she said.

"No," he quietly said. "It belongs to a time best left forgotten. It was sheer vanity to keep it for so long – as you have proved to me quite convincingly." He shot her a thoughtful gaze. "Has Teddy any idea of what you've found out?"

"Of course not!" she answered, slightly vexed. "Nor his grandmother, or anyone else! What do you expect of me?"

"Interestingly enough I don't know what to expect from you, Miss Lupin," Stephen Seeker – _Severus Snape_ - stated, again studying her face as if trying to solve a mystery. "But I suspect that the secret of my identity is safe in your hands."

"Yes," Ruta replied, strangely touched by this unexpected sign of faith in her. She felt herself smiling. "And I'd like to return one of these evenings, to learn more about your life after the last battle… if you are willing to tell me about it, of course." The smile grew when he raised an eyebrow in question. "I didn't explore that medal because I was searching for some juicy gossip. I wanted to know more about the man behind the garden wall… I hoped it would help to understand you better. I enjoy our conversations, Mr. Seeker. And your secret – _all_ of your secrets – are indeed safe with me."

To her amazement he reached out and touched her fingers, gently closing them over the medal. "Keep this one for me, then," he said. He stepped back and bowed before her with the courtesy of a long-past age.

The clock on the mantelpiece announced the hour, and Ruta startled. "I should go now," she said, tucking the medal away again. "Fionnula and her flowers will be waiting. Good bye, Mr Seeker. And thank you."

"Good bye, Miss Lupin."

She left the cottage and walked through the garden gate; suddenly it occurred to her that – aside from a cup of extraordinarily delicious coffee - her stomach was still empty. She thought of the plates and bowls on the tray and gave a little sigh, inwardly laughing at herself._There you go and discover the best kept secret of the Wizarding world, _she mused, _and all you can think of right now is a missed breakfast._

She went home to have a small snack and to fetch her bicycle, and then took the way to Berwick, deliberately returning to her usual routine. But for the rest of the day, while binding colorful bouquets and nurturing tender rose saplings to full glory with her wand, she still kept feeling the short, reverent touch of his hand, and her heart was filled with a silent, hesitant joy. 


	6. Beast of Prey

Chapter Five  
**Beast of Prey**

"Oh, thank you_ so_ much, Miss Lupin!" Eleanor Carpenter, every single grey hair firmly held in place by a rock-solid permanent wave, watched Ruta while she was loading half a dozen heavy flower tubs into the trunk of her aged Volvo. Mrs. Carpenter was a muggle; therefore Ruta wisely refrained from using her wand, more than thankful for the fact that plenty of exercise in fresh air kept her in form. "I told my daughter only yesterday how much I l_ove_ your chrysanthemums. The colors are _so_ exquisite, and your varieties are the _only_ ones to bloom until Christmas."

Ruta placed the last flower tub into the trunk and closed the lid with a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad that you like them, Mrs. Carpenter," she said with a smile. "Keep the soil moist, if you please, but not too much water. They don't like to be drowned. – I'll send you the bill, as usual, together with a small bottle of my special fertilizer."

Mrs. Carpenter was obviously in a talkative mood.

"Can you imagine what happened last night!" she said, showing not the slightest inclination to get into her car. "My daughter's husband – Tom, the best sheep farmer anyone could wish for – came to the northernmost field to look after his biggest flock… and what do you think he saw?"

"I have no idea," Ruta said, sighing again and bowing to the inevitable.

"When he opened the gate, the poor things were huddled together in a corner… and they nearly overran him when they finally discovered a chance to get away. He needed hours to get them back in again, for his best sheep dogs behaved as if they were mad – first barking wildly and then hiding behind his old Land Rover, tails between their legs and whining like frightened pups."

Whatever Ruta thought of this, she had no chance to add her opinion.

"I am sure it was Ezra Donohue's savage tyke, running free and scaring them out of their wits," Mrs. Carpenter stated with utter conviction. "The old half wit should finally be dragged out of that rundown cottage of his, to move to a proper retirement home… he's much too senile to take care of any dog, let alone himself."

Ruta knew Ezra Donohue. He owned a small cottage in a hollow just outside the limits of St. Mary Green… a very shy, anxious old muggle with a stiff knee and a speech disorder that made it extremely difficult to understand what he was saying. In Ruta's opinion he - same as his dog - would never hurt a fly. All he wanted was to be left in peace, and most inhabitants of St Mary Green did him the favor.

But Eleanor Carpenter saw his shabby dwelling as a personal insult; she was the unrivalled leader of the Eskdale Arts Committee and an untiring volunteer on every commission St. Mary Green additionally had to offer. Her finger was in almost every pie from the Summerfest to the Christmas Concert and she clearly thought of the village as her very own domain. In her eyes Ezra Donohue was a smudge of dirt on a highly polished gem. And she hadn't shot her bolt yet.

"Of course he swore that he had _nothing_ to do with Tom's scared sheep," the elder lady went on in a contemptuous tone. "Tom told me he had no idea what to make of the old bloke's mindless drivel – he just kept repeating: 'A monster in the hills… a monster in the hills!' until Tom lost his patience and gave up on him. My daughter was completely beside herself."

Mrs. Carpenter's daughter was the worst gossip-monger in St Mary Green and she had nerves of steel; Ruta highly doubted that a flock of frightened sheep would shake her peace of mind even for a second. But she refrained from making any comment.

Five minutes later the Volvo disappeared around the corner towards the main street, and Ruta saw it go with relief. It was her week off from _Fionnula's Fantastic Flowers_, and so far it had been a rather unusual week.

Two days after the morning when she had brought the stolen medal back to its rightful owner, she had found a small note in her mailbox in a neat, steep hand: _The offer of Chess lessons still holds._

That led her to Stephen Seeker's doorstep early the same evening, where he greeted her with perfect courtesy and an unmoving face. But Winky – who still refused to be seen – had brewed her extraordinary coffee (Seeker himself preferred a strong, dark _Assam_ tea) and served Scottish shortbread, and Ruta soon found out that she needed both to keep up with Seeker's rather unique way of introducing her to the Game of the Kings.

She had never experienced him as a teacher, but during the very first lesson she developed a rather precise idea why some of his former students still paled when his name was mentioned. He didn't waste much time talking her through the complicated rules but simply started a match, guiding her step by step through every move and mercilessly tearing apart even the smallest mistake. After fifteen minutes she was devastated, after half an hour she was ready to tip over the Chess board and flee. She looked up from the mess she had made with her white figures, close to exploding… and noticed a darkly amused glint in his eyes, telling her that he was waiting for exactly that reaction.

"It is a question of strategy, Miss Lupin," he casually remarked. "What you have to learn is to think several moves in advance… and after I have already seen you coming to quite… _complicated_ conclusions on my behalf, this can't be entirely beyond your abilities. You were sorted into Ravenclaw house for good reason, I should hope."

"My sincere thanks for your confidence," she retorted, silently cursing herself for the huffish tone of her voice. Seeker bowed with a mocking flourish, then peered down at the Chess board again, his lips twitching.

"This is the end of your pawn, I fear," he said, moving his black pawn sideward and taking the white one away.

"Just a moment!" She frowned. "Didn't you tell me that I am only allowed to strike with my pawn diagonally?" Her white Queen gave a snort of deepest disdain, and Ruta did her best to ignore it.

"Not if you move your pawn from the base line over two fields to a position beside my own," he retorted calmly. "You have walked right into my trap, and now I'm able to strike your pawn _en passant_… to my great regret."

The white Queen glared at her, carved hands on her hips. Ruta shrugged apologetically and shot Stephen Seeker a piercing gaze.

"To your great regret?" She snorted, but then her sense of humor got the upper hand. "I'd say you are enjoying this entirely too much to regret anything."

He gave a surprisingly boyish grin.

"I must confess there are some pleasant aspects," he said, and for a fleeting second his stern, pale face was carefree and almost startlingly young. Their eyes met, and she could clearly see the challenge in the black gaze. „Would you like to try again?"

She raised her chin. "Of course!"

Ruta did try again, more than once, and it took her two sessions and a dozen attempts to get at least an idea of the deeper structure and elegance of this kingly game. Between the lessons Stephen Seeker used the opportunity to fill the gaps in his knowledge about St. Mary Green and Berwick. At the end of this week he not only knew most of the juicier anecdotes of the area, but he was also thoroughly informed about Harry Potter's life after the Second Battle, his career and his family. Ruta knew pretty well that he was picking her brain, but she didn't mind: he deserved to know about the well-being of the boy he had protected for so long. Those conversations were only short breaks anyway… before he ruthlessly shoved her back on the mine field of yet another chess match. Once or twice between Monday and Friday she nearly reached a hard-fought draw, and she wore the short flash of approval in his eyes like an order. But the most astonishing victory she achieved during this remarkable week was to finally conquer Winky's trust.

She was aware that that the house elf saw her as a danger for her master's safety and probably as a general threat simply because she was a woman – a species the former Headmaster of Hogwarts had rarely shown any particular interest in. But she also knew that Seeker's servant was very proud of her cooking, and she had discovered yet another small detail: Winky had fallen in love with her earrings.

They were nothing special… only a pair of golden, heart-shaped studs she had been wearing for years. But when on Wednesday that week she finally ventured into the kitchen, delivering a well-prepared hymn of praise for Winky's baking and her incomparable coffee, she caught the house elf staring in admiration at her earlobes. She wore her hair pinned up that afternoon, and the small hearts sparkled in the sun streaming in through the kitchen window. Winky accepted her speech without turning a hair, but when Ruta withdrew into the living room, she shot another, longing gaze at the simple, little jewels.

On Friday Ruta managed her first "real" stalemate and Winky served two glasses of home made cherry liqueur to celebrate the occasion. This time Ruta's hair fell over her shoulders unbraided, covering both ears, and shortly before she had to leave she produced a small, prettily wrapped package from the pocket of her skirt and handed it over to the surprised house elf.

"I would like to give you this," she said, "as a small sign of respect and honest appreciation. I hope you like it."

Lamp like, huge eyes stared down at the sudden gift.

"This is for Winky?" the elf squeaked. "Miss brought this – for _Winky?"_

She turned to her master, a nervous question in her eyes. Stephen Seeker leaned back in his chair, turning the delicate stem of the liqueur glass between is fingers and nodding his approval. "Of course you may accept it, if you like."

They both watched how Winky freed the item out of the colorful wrapping paper. It was a small velvet bag, and one moment later two golden hearts tumbled into her palm.

The effect was truly dramatic. Winky burst into a flood of tears, clutching the unexpected treasure against her heart and constantly wiping her eyes with a corner of the pristine kitchen towel she wore. "Thank you!" she sobbed, "Thank you, Miss… Winky doesn't deserve this, Winky never hoped… oh, _thank you!"_ And with this tearful shout of joy she vanished into the kitchen, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Finally Stephen Seeker cleared his throat. He looked at Ruta and she looked back, her eyes dancing.

"So my house elf has a fancy for jewels," he said. "Who would have thought it?"

"I would," Ruta gave back. "You may be an expert on potions and Chess, but I know all there is to know about women. And Winky _is_ a woman after all."

He raised his glass in a silent salute, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"That should teach me never to underestimate you," he stated, his face relaxing in a crooked smile. "Even if this was a shockingly unscrupulous case of bribery."

Ruta savored the rest of the liqueur.

"Maybe," she said, putting down the glass. "But we all use different methods to win our personal battles, don't we?"

vvvvv

Now it was Friday evening, and with a start Ruta realized that between the good dozen orders that had kept her occupied in the daytime and the Chess lessons in the evening hours she had actually disregarded Andromeda and Teddy. She had only seen them three times last week; since Teddy had stolen the medal ten days ago, every meeting had been tense and slightly uncomfortable. Whenever she visited his grandmother and spoke to him, his answers were curt and monosyllabic at best. He always retired into his room before long, obviously disappointed, still sulking about his house arrest and feeling thoroughly misunderstood. With a surprisingly sharp pang of guilt she remembered that one of her most cherished habits in Teddy's eyes – reading bed time stories to him while he already lay under the covers - had been completely neglected since his silly prank. Under normal circumstances she would have stormed the fortress of his room long ago… but though she hated to admit it, the memory of his careless fraud kept gnawing on her. Stephen Seeker's life had been a long string of disappointments, of lies and betrayal, and that it was Teddy of all people who added another one to the painful list was something she could not so easily forgive.

_Silly cow,_ she scolded herself. _You ought to be the last one to brood over the boy's misdeeds… and if you don't clear the air, you will lose his trust. _

Suddenly she recalled promising Andromeda to come over and bring her a basket full of the first young Brussels sprouts as soon as they were harvested from the bed in her back garden. Time to fetch the Brussels sprouts she had gathered this morning –_ and to finally reconcile with the boy. _

When she entered Andromeda's house fifteen minutes later, she saw two cloaks on the pegs for guests. One was Harry Potter's favorite leather jacket, the other one a wonderfully familiar baggy cloak, littered with faded green stains and oily splatters. Ruta took a deep breath, enjoying the heady scent of flower and fern, moss and manure... and was that _catnip?_ ... that clung to the faded wool.

She dropped the bag of Brussels sprouts on the floor and felt her face relax in a huge smile. "Neville…?"

The door to the living room opened and a tall, young man appeared on the doorstep.

"_Ruta!"_ She was caught in a bear hug. "My goodness, how long has it been this time? Half a year?"

She kissed his cheek. "More than eight months, since Christmas. I was sorry to hear that you couldn't pay us the visit you promised us at midsummer. How is your grandmother now?"

"Better," he said, a small shadow darkening his open, friendly face. "I guess we have to live with the fact that she's getting _really_ frail now, and a dislocated hip is not a small matter, even for a witch."

Augusta Longbottom had raised him after his parents had been tortured and driven into madness by Death Eaters, and he loved her deeply. A few weeks ago she had insisted on doing the plum harvest in the garden of her little house all on her own; while maneuvering the full basket around with her wand, she had stumbled into a mouse hole and fallen when the basket had hit her with full momentum. This was the reason why he hadn't been able to begin his holiday in Berwick earlier.

He pulled Ruta over into the living room, his arm around her shoulder.

"Look who we have here!" he said, and Harry Potter slowly rose from a deep, overstuffed chair, holding out his hand. Ruta raised one eyebrow, grinning.

"Hail to the hero!" she said, mimicking a yawn. "Hello Harry… I hope you understand that I'm much more enthusiastic about seeing Neville here. I meet _you_ nearly every week, after all."

"Thank you very much," Harry retorted, bowing ironically, a mischievous sparkle in his green eyes. "I know he is the love of your life."

"My roses and plants are the love of my life," she mildly replied, "though I must admit that marriage to a Hogwarts Professor of Herbology would be a great temptation."

Neville clutched at his heart, sighing dramatically.

"_Blimey!"_ he exclaimed. "My first proposal ever!"

"Hopefully not your last one, you scallywag," Ruta laughed. "And I said that I'm _tempted_ to marry you, not determined. – How are Ginny and James?"

"Ginny's well, but Jamie's teething," Harry said. "Neville brewed him a catnip tea to ease the pain, but I fear the little one was not too happy with it; in fact he spat half the bottle on Neville's coat."

"Ah – so _that's_ the reason for the smell!" Ruta caught the sudden redness of Neville's face and gave him a comforting smile. "Try and offer him a peeled piece of licorice next time. Tastes nice and sweet, and he has something to chew on… that helps, normally."

"You should really come to Hogwarts, you know," Neville said, suddenly turning serious. "After beginning that study on continental and insular magical herbs in cooperation with Beauxbatons I could really use an extra hand… especially one as skilled as yours. I'd still love to have you as my assistant, and the Headmistress would accept your application any time."

"I'm flattered, quite honestly," Ruta answered. "But I decided long ago to help Dromeda and Teddy, and I'm rather busy here… even if some of my Muggle customers are a bit exhausting at times."

She gave them a humorous summary of her conversation with Mrs. Carpenter, also mentioning the mysteriously frightened sheep and the mutterings of the old man.

"A monster in the hills?" Harry asked, frowning. "What kind of monster?"

"He's a harmless old pensioner," Ruta explained. "I think Tom scared him terribly, and he was afraid of losing his home and his dog… who is completely harmless, too, by the way. Hector's as old as the hills, and if he caught sight of a flock of sheep, he'd probably chicken out and run the opposite direction. Poor Ezra merely blurted out with the first thing that came into his mind, to make Tom clear away and leave him in peace."

Andromeda Tonks came in with a tea tray, Teddy in her wake. The boy beamed at his godfather, gave Neville a dimpled smile and shot Ruta a cautious gaze before he flopped down on the sofa. Harry turned to Dromeda .

"What about the idea to take Teddy with us this evening for a night at his godfather's?" he said. "Ginny would be delighted to see a child big enough _not_ to need a bottle and fresh diapers for a change."

Teddy's face lit up with a sudden hope, but when Ruta opened her mouth to answer, he bit his lip.

"I can't come for a visit," he said, his tone sullen. "I still have house arrest."

The elder woman shot Ruta an enquiring look.

"Dear, don't you think…"

Ruta's gaze was still fixed on Teddy's face; she silently willed him to look at her, but all she got to see was a shock of hazelnut brown hair and a stubborn little nose.

"That house arrest will be over on Sunday," she said as airily as possible. "Perhaps he could spend two or three days with you next week? All I want him to understand…"

_This was getting increasingly difficult… but she had to try nonetheless. _

"All I want him to understand is that some things have consequences," she continued the sentence. "This might help him not to make the same mistake again."

"Mistake?" Harry asked. "What did he do? – Teddy?"

Teddy didn't say a word, and Ruta silently cursed herself for not handling the situation with more tact. If the boy felt exposed and publicly judged right now, she could hardly bear him a grudge. Andromeda opened her mouth, but it was Ruta who spoke first.

"I left a bag of Brussels Sprouts outside," she said, meaningfully seeking Neville's gaze. _This is something grave and personal, _her eyes said,_ and rather embarrassing for Teddy to boot. Would you…?_

One of the things she really loved about Neville was his keen perception. "Oh… Brussels sprouts!" He spoke with enthusiasm. "It is_ months_ since I had them… and that was here, a few days after Christmas! They were delicious… Mrs. Tonks, you would certainly be so kind to tell me everything about your recipe, wouldn't you?"

"Erh… yes, Neville, of course." Andromeda frowned, a little confused. Neville quickly got up from his chair and all but hauled the elder woman out of the room, chatting merrily all the time. But before Ruta could use the chance she was given, the opportunity was already lost. Teddy – who was obviously expecting a thorough, embarrassing report of his misdeeds – shot out of the door with lightning speed before she or Harry could react.

Ruta sighed in frustration, and Harry stared after his godson, a deep fold between his brows.

"Neville _hates_ Brussels sprouts," he said. "Same as nearly everyone I know does. No wonder the house elves almost never serve them at the big banquet in Hogwarts." His eyes turned back to her. "It must be something serious, then," he remarked. "What was it?"

"We have a new neighbor," She chose her words carefully. "The man just moved here a few weeks ago, and he's a very withdrawn type of person, though Teddy managed to meet him. And he and I have had a little Smalltalk over the fence now and then. But last week Teddy sneaked into his garden and made a fire."

"Oh no." Harry grimaced. "Not _again."_

"The fire was not the problem," Ruta continued, still feeling as if walking on thin ice. "Instead of throwing him out immediately, the man – Mr. Seeker is his name – was kind enough to invite Teddy in for tea, and Teddy paid him back by rummaging through the drawers and stealing him an old… some old medal he found among his belongings."

"He stole…" Harry blinked. "Why for heaven's sake did he do that?"

"Curiosity, perhaps… and the habit he has of stuffing everything within reach into his pockets," she said. "Or… honestly, Harry, I don't know. But later that same evening I found the medal, and that is the reason for the house arrest."

"Aha." Harry cleared his throat. "Well… in that case I presume it can't be helped."

There were fast, soft steps moving up the stairs towards the bedrooms, and Ruta sighed again.

"Oh dear… I really wish I would have been a bit wiser in this matter. I have only made things worse for him, and now I definitely am _persona non grata."_ She gave Harry a weak smile. "At least he's not mad at _you."_

"Thank heavens," Harry dryly said. For a few moments they both were silent; they could hear Neville and Andromeda's laughter in the kitchen.

Then he spoke again.

"What kind of man is this… what did you call him? Seeker?"

_It would have been foolish to expect that he didn't want to know._

"He…" Ruta took a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. "He is something of a recluse. A bit brusque, perhaps – I think he doesn't trust easily. And for Teddy to find the chink in his armor and then doing something like _that..."_ She caught herself back from revealing too much. Trying to keep something from Harry was an arduous task, and she didn't like putting him off the scent at all.

She rose from her chair.

"I have to leave now. Mrs. Smythe, our local apothecary, will appear on my doorstep any moment, to collect two dozen rosebushes I've cultivated for her. I'd like to come over to Berwick tomorrow, to see the little one and Ginny. Give her my love, will you?"

"Of course." Harry smiled at her; it was the open smile of someone who had finally found his place in life, and a happiness he'd never dreamed of having. She had known him since after the second battle of Hogwarts; they had first met at Remus' and Tonks' funeral. Aside from her own, overwhelming grief she kept a very vivid memory of how he had been then – deathly pale, burning eyes in a narrow face, a very young man, literally falling apart when the terrible tension of the fight he had won against all hopes and expectations finally wore off. That was more than eight years ago now… and fate had finally decided to reward him with the family he'd always longed for, and a peace of mind he'd never known.

He followed her into the vestibule, waited for her to say goodbye to Neville and Dromeda and opened the door for her. She stepped out into the sunshine.

"Ruta?"

She looked at him.

"Would that Mr. Seeker do any harm to… is it possible that he might…" A short, awkward pause. "… that he… goodness, you _know_ what I mean!"

"The answer is no, Harry." She spoke firmly. "Mr. Seeker is a good and honorable man. He would never do any harm to _any_ child."

He blushed, giving her a wry, slightly ashamed grin. "You know I had to ask, don't you?"

"No harm done," she replied, suddenly remembering the very first words Stephen Seeker had ever spoken to her. "Have a nice evening, Harry."

vvvvv

That evening Ruta sat at her small desk, writing the bills for Mrs. Carpenter's chrysanthemums and Mrs. Smythe's roses, and Neville sat in Andromeda's house for a late dinner and bravely washed down the taste of Brussels sprouts with a glass of wine. Stephen Seeker sat in his study, reading a letter he had received earlier that day, and Ginny Potter sat in a wing chair in her house in Berwick, Baby James in her arms, who had finally fallen asleep. Harry sat beside the fireplace, patiently waiting for the strategically convenient moment to carry his son to the nursery and smiling at his wife over the downy little head.

In his shabby cottage, Ezra Donohue sat close to the fireplace. It was still warm outside, but the coldness he felt never left his flesh and bone anymore. It was the curse of age and bad memories; the War had left him the evil heritage of bad dreams, as vivid and fresh as if he had just left the beaches of Normandy after D-Day with a crippled knee, heading home to a country where no one was waiting for him. He had forgotten about the farm he lost in the difficult years after the War, he had forgotten about his drained-away hopes and dreams, and finally his entire world had shrunk to the walls of this run-down, little house.

Hector, lying at his feet as usual, chose this moment to rise slowly. On four arthritic legs he stalked towards the door, and Ezra heaved himself out of his chair to let him out. He thought of Tom Kerrey, of his loud, booming voice and the shrill, angry yapping of his arrogant sheep dogs. And he tried his very best _not_ to think about the shadow he'd seen coming down from Blea Tarn late last night… dark and enormous and moving in a weird way that still made his skin crawl.

_If they would only leave him in peace… all of them._

The moon was waning; the shimmering coin in the cloudless, starry sky had lost its perfect roundness. Ezra stood on the doorstep, watching Hector walk over to the tree where he normally relieved himself. The gnarled oak in his unkempt garden and the scrubby hedge were pitch black silhouettes against a silent landscape of pure silver.

Suddenly Hector gave a short bark, standing in the middle of the path, his head turned towards the garden gate. The barking broke off, replaced by a growl deep in his throat, and then he turned around and ran back to where Ezra was standing, as fast as his stiff joints allowed. The old man could feel the body of the dog, pressed against his shins and trembling violently. He patted Hector's head.

"Come on, old boy, no' un will do yer any harm…" he murmured. "no' un will come 'ere…"

But then he saw something dark move behind the hedge, something _alive,_ something very _huge_, and a scared being deep inside his heart immediately recognized it, turning his heartbeat to a frenzied drum roll and making him cling to the doorframe.

_It had come back. The monster had come back._

Then the gate flew open and the… _thing_ came down the path, all glowing eyes and horrent fur, and incredibly _fast._ Too late Ezra tried to retreat into the house; there was no time to close the door into the face of the terror approaching with stupefying speed. The last thing Ezra heard was a terrible sound between laughter and roar, and then it was there, tossing Hector aside with a single, violent blow, digging its teeth in the old man's neck and tearing him down.


	7. Warnings Unseen

Chapter Six  
**Warnings unseen**

The next morning dawned clear and cloudless, and Ruta was up early, collecting fresh rose petals in her garden, for a fresh batch of her famous anti-mildew potion. After a small flick with her wand her kettle agreed to boil enough water for her morning coffee, and the coffee mill busied itself with grinding the dark beans into the filter on top of the coffee pot while Ruta scrupulously measured off the pure alcohol she needed to steep the petals in. Sometimes she wondered how Muggles ever managed to get everything done; by the time she had corked the clay bottles and taken them down to the cellar to age for the next two days, the coffee pot, her plate and cup had performed a neat little ballet together with toast, butter and country cheese, and all she had to do was to sit down and enjoy her breakfast.

Afterwards she performed one of Andromeda's favorite spells and left the dishes and cutlery to cleaning themselves while she took off her gardening apron, settled in front of her desk and made a neat list of all orders she had completed during her holidays. There was still a delivery of aster plants to be completed (to her secret relief _not_ for Mrs. Carpenter), and so she spent the rest of the forenoon in her back garden before she finally found the time to decide what to wear while visiting Ginny Potter.

Ruta Lupin was not the woman to spend much time in front of a mirror; she could barely remember when she had last used any make-up, and the crow's feet slowly beginning to engrave around her eyes weren't the sort of thing she tended to worry about. The fact that she was constantly busy with soil and saplings had hardened her hands, and she had recently discovered the first silvery streaks interspersing her thick, hazelnut brown hair (one of the very few parts of her outer appearance she really was fond of). After the initial shock she had decided to accept those clear signs of approaching age with dignity and humor.

Now she gave her face the usual, quick treatment with a simple Muggle baby cream, took some more time to pin her hair up to a heavy knot in the back of her neck and after some consideration (and the memory of the evenings she had just spent with Stephen Seeker in mind) she decided for a witch's robe instead of a Muggle blouse and skirt. She _was_ a witch, after all, and she was going to Berwick today. The robe was of a soft powder blue, and she found that she liked the contrast of the gentle-colored fabric to her sun-tanned skin. Studying her own appearance one last time, Ruta frowned at the unfamiliar sight of her empty earlobes… and found herself smiling at the thought of where the small golden earrings were now.

She pulled the small jewelry box she kept in her night stand out of the drawer and noticed the layer of dust on the lid; when had she last bothered to choose among the rather small number of items in the box? Then she remembered; the last time she wore any of the more festive necklaces and earrings had been on Remus' wedding. _Eight years of a nearly unembellished life_, she thought, wondering what had gotten into her today, the smile dying on her face. Then she straightened her back, opened the lid and took out two small, flower-shaped studs, the petals made of moonstone and blue topaz. She fixed them on her earlobes, then put the box back into the drawer and left the bedroom. A short, scrutinizing gaze into the kitchen showed her a scrubbed table, a clean sink and the plates back where they belonged.

_This promised to be a beautiful afternoon._

Taking the bicycle while wearing the robe wasn't a very practical idea, therefore Ruta decided to Apparate for a change. With a small _pop_ she vanished from the middle of her living room.

The decision to Apparate kept her away from the street, though, and both the list and the asters had delayed her quite a bit. Otherwise she might have seen Constable Bernie Smithers, eye of the law of St Mary Green, stumbling from the direction of Ezra Donohue's cottage earlier that morning. He was trembling from head to toe, his uniform was spotted with blood and the only half-digested remnants of his last sandwich, and his face was white with horror.

vvvvv

Arriving on the doorstep of the Potter's house at the edge of Berwick, Ruta was greeted by the angry bawling of a baby's voice. The door was not locked, so she walked inside, following the noise, until she found the former Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, rocking Baby James in her arms. His small face was nearly as red as his hair.

Ginny looked up from her fretful son and saw her.

"Hello, Ruta!" she said, the relief plain on her face. "Harry told me you would come today, but I haven't managed to prepare anything so far… this little squaller here has been keeping me quite busy, I can tell you."

"Don't bother," Ruta brightly replied. "I've already had my breakfast… but you look as if you didn't."

"Breakfast…?" Ginny groaned. "You mean a proper cup of tea, and bread rolls? Marmalade and scrambled eggs?"

Wee James chose that moment to start a new attack on her ears.

"No," she said, raising her voice. "The only one here getting his meals on a regular basis right now is our noisy offspring. Harry has allowed old Kreacher to spend a few weeks in the house at Grimmauld Place; you never saw the Gothic nightmare as it was 10 years ago, but Kreacher's just doing his best to finally turn it from a pompous tomb into a place where someone is actually able to _live_. He accepts our home here… but I think he's never really overcome the conviction that the man who defeated Voldemort should have a more… _presentable_ place to reside in. I guess he feels that Berwick is far beyond his dignity… and ours."

She gave an exhausted sigh.

"It's been days since I've had a chance to even see the newspaper. Harry vanishes with the _Daily Prophet_ right after breakfast, and I haven't bothered picking up the Muggle news off the lawn. Why Harry wants it, I don't know, if he's not going to read it. But I'm nearly desperate enough to give it a try. All I get to read right now are the labels on those baby food jars Dad sent me last week - a huge cardboard box full of 'Baby Carrot Puree'. I don't dare to think what Mom thought about his idea of testing Muggle baby food on her first grandchild – I'm sure he's still tiptoeing through the Burrow, to keep out of her line of fire."

Her smile was more than a bit nostalgic.

"I never thought I would say that, but I wish I had her nerves."

"And seven children?" Ruta asked laughing. "Although even your mother had to take them on one at a time." She noticed the shadow that suddenly filled Ginny's eyes and bit her lip, angry at herself for forgetting. "Except for the twins," she added, belatedly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ginny said, giving her a pale smile. "Sometimes even I forget about Fred… though I still find it incredibly difficult to believe that he's gone."

She reached out, and her hand grazed Jamie's brow in a fleeting gesture of love and protection.

"And we'll all feel better as soon as those nasty milk teeth have come through. Harry's lucky that he's been called in for a meeting of the Aurors in London… and Neville's probably got lost at _Flourish & Blotts_, up to the ears in books about magical herbs in Normandy. He's pretty enthusiastic about his new project."

Ruta decided that this was not the day to expect a courteous host; she made her way into the kitchen, pulled the willow wand out of the sleeve of her robe and opened the door to the pantry. Fifteen minutes later Ginny sat at the table in the small dining room, her legs propped up on a stool, sipping her first cup of a marvelous _Darjeeling._ A small bowl with scrambled eggs and a basket full of toast were waiting for her while Ruta sat in a rocking chair by the window, caressing the baby's cheek and producing a piece of peeled licorice from her pocket.

"Here, little one," she said, smiling when a little fist closed around the interesting new item. "Try to chew on this… no, not into your _nose!" _The piece of licorice now found the right orifice, partly vanishing in the baby's mouth while Ruta still held the other end. Slowly a happy grin spread on Little Jamie's face. "See? I knew you would like it!"

Ginny took a mouthful of scrambled eggs and gave a sound of utter satisfaction. She swallowed and gazed at her son who had finally stopped proclaiming his discomfort in favor of raptly belaboring the licorice with his toothless jaw. "You should've come earlier," she stated, reaching for a crisp slice of toast. "This is my first break in hours."

"When will Harry and Neville be back?" Ruta asked. "I could prepare a lunch if you want."

"They'll return this evening," Ginny said, buttering her toast and helping herself with a generous portion of orange marmalade. "But I won't object if you cook something, a little later. I have chicken breast from the market, and fresh spinach."

"Splendid idea – _ouch!_" Ruta carefully removed a chubby hand from the glittering flower on her earlobe. "My dear boy, I think you need a nap… and if _you _don't, your Mama certainly does."

vvvvv

At the same time as Ginny Potter took a well deserved nap, Ruta steamed the spinach leaves and Baby James happily crawled around on a blanket in the kitchen, Thomas Grey, chief editor of the _Eskdale Gazette_, stood behind his desk, gazing down at a series of black and white printouts made from digital photographs. He silently blessed the fact that they didn't show the original colors; he hadn't felt that cold and sick for years.

"What did the pathologist say was the cause of these… of these wounds?" he asked softly.

"Teeth, and sharp claws. Who – or _whatever_ – it was, it literally tore that poor old bloke apart. Maybe with some kind of sharp tool – a garden rake, perhaps. The pathologist thinks whatever it was it had spikes or teeth at least three inches long."

Ernie Pembroke, local reporter from St. Mary Green, felt another surge of sheer relief that he'd come too late to Ezra Donohue's cottage to witness the whole extent of the mess. The photographs on his boss's desk were the result of his good connections to the police in Kendal, and he still wished he'd never seen them. He'd been a war correspondent in Afghanistan and Israel before he retired into the sleepy peace of the village where he had been born and raised. And even the nightmarish memories of those grim times hadn't prepared him for anything like this.

"We'll print an evening edition," Thomas Grey decided. "People should know, and as fast as possible. Radio Cumbria's going to air a warning every half an hour, and the police are driving patrols."

"Bernie Smithers said he means to go from door to door in St. Mary Green, as soon as he gets back up there to make sure that everyone knows," Ernie Pembroke piped up. "Thank God the TV team from BBC Cumbria has already left, because of that huge multiple pileup on the M6. The last thing we need is some overzealous reporter arse around here, shoving his microphone into people's faces."

The warning was aired, every half and full hour. Muggle families listened to the serious voice, bringing shocking news between advertisements for washing powder and schmaltzy pop songs, and they hurriedly called their children inside, firmly closing the doors.

Andromeda Tonks left the house and Apparated to Berwick where old Mrs. Walburga Warne had just received a long-expected package with two tea services from _Millington's Magical Porcelain & Pottery_ in London; she couldn't resist the temptation to have a look at her newest acquisition and told Teddy that she would be back within half an hour. She impressed upon her grandson that he was not allowed to leave the house or to open the door to anyone. It took her slightly more than half an hour to return, of course. Mrs. Warne made her own, brand new tea pot brew a fine _Oolong_ while the two women listened to a recording of _Celestina Warbeck's Favorite Fairy Tale Songs._

Teddy Lupin lay on his bed, reading a children's book about Quidditch and fighting the growing despair about his aunt's ongoing irritation with him. When Constable Bernie Smithers pulled the chain of the door bell, he didn't even look out of the window; he was determined to obey Gran Dromeda's last order, feeling very mannerly and terribly misunderstood.

None of them listened to the Muggle program in the radio.

vvvvv

Late that afternoon Ruta paid a hearty farewell to Ginny and her son and Apparated back to St. Mary Green. The rest of the evening stretched before her, free of all duties; she stood in the middle of her silent, spotless living room and suddenly found the expectation of an evening spent all on her own slightly depressing.

She felt herself smile. _One week of chess lessons, each of them as hard as your N.E.W.T in Transfiguration… and now you actually miss them._

Ruta was well aware of the fact that those lessons – however exhausting – were Seeker's way of telling her that she was forgiven. She found it still astonishing that after Teddy's thievery and her own betrayal _he _had been the one to make the first step – instead of backing away in anger from the hesitant rapport they had built during those few, short weeks. His hunger for friendship had to be very deep if he was ready to give his pardon that easily.

But what about her own hunger? She had never been popular, never been surrounded by a gaggle of admiring schoolmates, let alone any _male_ students. She had never found it easy to build a strong friendship – her best friends had been books, her best ally her constant desire for knowledge. Her cousin's secret and her own determination to keep it from anybody had only increased a certain isolation… until she had sometimes struggled against the feeling that she was living behind an invisible wall of glass, watching other boys and girls her age, enacting their turbulent fates like a company of players on some colorful stage.

She'd learned to master her frustration, the sharpness of it slowly subsiding with the years while she managed to lock away the old ghosts of unpleasant memories and settled into the comfortably organized life of a self-sufficient spinster. The amicable contact with her colleagues at _Fionnula's_ was satisfying enough, and Andromeda and Teddy had come to be the best substitute for a closer family she could imagine for herself.

Her father didn't count. She had cared for him after her mother died, honestly trying to be the daughter he wanted her to be. But once she decided to go her own way, had found the job in Dover and left him behind in their small parental home, the relationship between them had become more and more threadbare. She still visited him on his birthday and every second Christmas, and he never forgot to send her a present on her own birthday, but she was unable to feel a deeper love for him. Perhaps he was unhappy about that… perhaps he was disappointed. _Ah well… there were days when she was rather disappointed, too._

No. It was not a good idea to stay at home alone. She could take a walk… Apparating was all very good and well, but she had spent most of this day indoors, in the company of a young mother and a bad-tempered baby, and suddenly she had a hearty appetite for fresh air. Yes, a walk was a good idea… _even if it was only short and led her straight away to Stephen Seeker's cottage._

She left the house, closed and locked the door and made her way down the street, still not sure if she was irritated or amused with herself.

vvvvv

Stephen Seeker opened the door almost immediately.

"Miss Lupin!" The flexible eyebrow rose towards his hairline. "I didn't expect you this evening; hadn't you planned to visit Mrs. Potter today?"

"Oh, I did visit her," she quietly replied, "and it was a pleasant afternoon. But when I returned home, it suddenly occurred to me that during the last six days, whenever the topic wasn't chess, it has always been _you_ who asked the questions… and _me_ who gave the answers."

"And your answers were very valuable," he said earnestly. "I take it that you are not here to get another chess lesson, then?" _To her amazement the black eyes were twinkling._

"You're making fun of me," she stated.

"That is something I would never dare." He made one of his small, elegant bows. "But I assume that even your capacity for suffering has its limits."

"It has indeed." Ruta grinned. "But I thought you might perhaps be willing to fill _my_ gaps of knowledge for a change."

"By telling you what?"

Her gaze was clear and straight. "By telling me how you survived that last attack... and how it was possible for you to escape your grave and to stay invisible for nearly eight years." She hesitated. "You don't have to… of course… but it is something I've been curious about for quite some time now."

A short pause; she anxiously studied his face. Again it dawned on her how limited her understanding was of the heart and the memories of this man… and it was easily possible that he would refuse to share more than she already knew of him.

He surprised her, though. His face relaxed in a slow smile.

"You know, I've already been wondering how long it would be before you worked up your nerve to ask." He stepped back. "Come in."

vvvvv

"What do you want to know?"

Ruta sat in the living room, this time in a very comfortable wing chair opposite the window. Her host had closed the curtains, to keep her from being dazzled by the rays of the sinking sun. Winky had greeted her with enthusiasm and a coffee that was strong and wonderfully aromatic. The caffeine felt like a gentle blow against her solar plexus.

"I don't know what to ask first," she slowly said, "Perhaps you should simply start with your… with your death?" _This felt increasingly surreal._

"Well…" Stephen Seeker sat down at the table, reaching for the bottle of wine Winky had served together with the coffee (and with a secret, condemnatory glare in the direction of her master that made Ruta smile). He uncorked it and poured a small amount of the dark crimson fluid into a glass. He let the wine swirl, inhaled the scent, and then finally took the first sip. And still there were a few more moments of utter silence until he spoke. She waited patiently, her gaze fixed on the pale face with the deep, shadowed eyes.

"I had been quite sure that the day would come when the Dark Lord found it appropriate to get rid of my priceless assistance… and so Winky became a kind of protective shadow for me, constantly carrying a small phial with preserved phoenix tears, and a flask of the Draught of Living Death. And when Voldemort set his snake on me, she came just in time to heal the damage… but it was a close thing. The fact that Harry Potter suddenly appeared, enabling me to deliver my memories, was unexpected… and it nearly robbed me of my last chance to come back."

"Why?"

"Because Nagini's poison was a very potent one… and it had more time to do its harm than I had planned. On the other hand, the boy finally knew what to do, he knew enough about me to draw the right conclusions… most certainly more than he ever _wanted_ to find out."

He gave her a crooked smile.

"I was severely wounded, but I had the time to heal… and the Draught of the Living Death provided me with more sleep than I'd had in years. When I woke up, I found myself lying in a magnificent tomb… and - on top of everything - as the tragic hero of half a dozen incredibly chintzy tales. Which I found out later, after Winky came to let me out of my cold refuge."

Ruta frowned, studying his face.

"But… you must have been in need of a place to stay undetected – after escaping that… cold refuge. I honestly can't imagine Winky hiding you in some secret cupboard in the kitchens of Hogwarts." She drank the rest of her coffee, the thoughts rushing in her head. "No more than I can imagine her marching straight away into Gringotts, wrapped in her towel, demanding to withdraw Severus Snape's money and close his account."

He snorted audibly. "Your conclusions are extremely fascinating, Miss Lupin."

"My knowledge about potions - aside from those helpful with plants - may be a little rusty, but as far as I remember the Draught of the Living Death doesn't last for more than a few days. Which means that you couldn't simply walk around in the wizard world, hoping not be recognized for who you were," Ruta continued, quickly warming for the intellectual attempt to unravel the intricate pattern of his plans. "Of course you could have closed your account yourself in advance, and kept a solid amount of Polyjuice Potion in stock, just in case… or simply Apparated to some solitary hideaway far abroad."

"Quite believable," he remarked, sipping his wine and studying her face in return. "I actually used Polyjuice Potion for some time, directly after my… erh… secret resurrection. But I wasn't provident enough to close my account in advance."

He leaned in, his black eyes holding more than a small challenge of her skills. "What do _you_ believe I did?"

"You must have had help, from someone else than Winky, that much is clear," she slowly said. "But who…? You were not very famous for your sociability, you know." She blushed fiercely. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He laughed softly. "My sincere gratitude for your tactful circumlocution of the notion that I had no trustworthy friends to rely upon, Miss Lupin. But yes… I actually found help, and from someone whose conscience made her glad for the opportunity to compensate me for her distrust… and for the staggering fact that she tried to kill me the last time we met in person."

He leaned back again, visibly enjoying this strange, little game.

"Her very… _Gryffindorean_ idea of honor and reparation made her a perfect accomplice. And her position as Headmistress provided her with the ability to use a great amount of influence on my behalf."

Ruta blinked and gave a sharp gasp when the pieces of the jigsaw suddenly fell into place. "McGonagall? _Minerva McGonagall?"_

"Exactly." He emptied his glass. "Of course I had some difficulty convincing her that I actually was who I claimed to be. But after the first few obstacles – and after she had recovered from the first, very understandable shock – she was a great help."

He got up from his chair and slowly started to pace through the room.

"I decided it would be wise to leave the country and to stay abroad for a time… as you had assumed." He gave her a short nod. "But I urgently wanted to keep the option of coming back … and I didn't want to spend my days in the skin of someone else, constantly dependent on a potion I had no intention of drinking on an hourly basis for the rest of my life. It was Minerva McGonagall who used her impressive connections to provide me with whatever money I had –which was not very much back then – who managed to sell my old home for a decent amount, and who finally created a completely new identity for me."

"How did she do that?" Ruta asked with rapt fascination.

"Minerva McGonagall is a very powerful witch, Miss Lupin," he retorted. "I personally believe it was a most clever mixture of magic and manipulation. If you searched the annals of Hogwarts nowadays, you would find the complete school career of a certain Stephen Seeker, born in Canterbury in 1960 and graduated in 1978. He gained some merits in several subjects – without being too obtrusive - and spent the next eighteen years in foreign countries, elaborating his skills and filing patents for half a dozen rare potions, for unusual metamorphoses and against a few particularly nasty magical diseases."

He noticed her surprised gaze.

"Oh – the patents are quite real, only they were filed _after_ 1998 and not _before_… something no one will ever be able to find out after Minerva worked some very credible changes on the records in question. The fact that I actually made the journeys attributed to my second identity had the pleasant side effect in that I was given the chance to do some enormously enlightening research in places like Egypt, Africa and the Far East… and Stephen Seeker's bank account at Gringotts is much more satisfying than the account of Severus Snape has ever been, believe me."

"My goodness!" Ruta shook her head in amused disbelief. "You simply thought of everything, didn't you?"

"Thank you, Miss Lupin." He gave a polite, slightly derisive bow. "I am sure Minerva will be delighted to discover your admiration of her skills."

vvvvv

At the same time a police car slowly drove around the bend of the road. Constable Bernie Smithers sat on the driver's seat, a hunting rifle within reach. He had changed his ruined uniform long since, and received the order to notify people that they should by all means stay at home. He hadn't made the progress he'd hoped for, though… there had been no less than six false alarms from farmers who were dead sure that a mysterious monster lurked behind their own stable, threatening to eat their children. A few people hadn't been at home when he stood on their doorsteps; he would have to try again, and the repeated interruptions of his patrol began to tug at his nerves. He had taken a short break for a cup of tea, but he hadn't been able to bear the thought of any food since that very moment when he saw the door of Ezra Donohue's cottage, hanging askew on its hinges, and then the obscene amount of blood and what was left of the old man and his dog.

He swallowed dryly.

There was the cottage Mrs. Ogilvie had finally let to someone three months ago; it was the last one in a row of houses along this street before it narrowed down to the path that led towards the hills. As far as Bernie Smithers knew, it was now inhabited by an impressive fellow with the air of an university professor, obviously single and rather withdrawn. Smithers had seen him once or twice, sitting in his well-kept garden with a book – no cheap paperbacks but the kind of tomes he would've expected in an ancient library, lots of leather and embossed, golden letters. _Definitely some kind of scholar._

Mrs. Ogilvie lived in the house next to that cottage; the old lady was a kind of local celebrity. She owned four of six buildings along this road, in addition to the Eskdale Gallery and the well-frequented _Virgin Inn_. During the past thirty years she had actually been for St. Mary Green what Beatrix Potter, the legendary storybook author and sheep farmer, had been for Near Sawrey - and what Eleanor Carpenter with all her grim flurry of activities so desperately craved to be. Callista Ogilvie didn't look half as formidable and daunting as the famous Miss Potter. She was more the petite, silver-haired type of woman, with a fondness for pastel-colored pearls, angora cardigans and old-fashioned frilly blouses. But the mignon façade hid a sharp mind and an iron will. Everybody who tried to get the better of that delusively harmless old woman was about to get a nasty surprise, and Bernie Smithers, born and raised in St. Mary Green, never failed to pay her the respect she deserved. Now she was the last one along this road to be warned… she and that scholar fellow next door.

He got out of the police car, shot a quick gaze up and down the street and walked through her neat garden. Before he could ring the bell, the door opened and a small, white poodle swished over the threshold and jumped up against his legs, yapping like mad.

"Nice puppy," Bernie Smithers murmured, quickly hiding the rifle behind his back. _He hated poodles, and this one in particular._

"Oh come on, Fancy… leave the good Constable alone, will you?" Callista Ogilvie stood on the doorstep, peering up at him, her eyes round and lively like those of a blackbird. "It is time for my little darling's evening walkies. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The good Constable tried his best to ignore the dog sniffling at his shoes and straightened his back.

"I presume you have followed the news on Radio Cumbria today, Mrs. Ogilvie?"

"I have indeed, young man," the old lady retorted. "I guess you're talking of those nasty stories about the madman the police are combing the whole district for. Poor old Ezra… no one deserves such a miserable ending." She took a deep breath. "Don't be afraid, I'll take Fancy inside within a minute – she won't run out of my garden anyway - and I will stay where I am."

"I'm glad to hear that," Bernie Smithers said… and in that very moment the radio unit in his police car awoke to life with a loud, snarling sound. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

He hurried through the garden gate to the car. "Yes, Margery? Smithers here."

"Tom Kerrey has just stormed the office; he's worried about his sheep," the voice of Margery Harris from the police station squawked out of the small speaker. "That mysterious beast already let loose on them a few days ago – at least this is what Eleanor Carpenter told the newspaper - and now they've been attacked again. He's making quite a fuss over here."

Bernie Smithers sighed.

"Tom _always_ makes a fuss, Marge," he replied. "He simply can't help himself – and if you ever tell him that I said that, I'll lock you away in our drunk tank. It is the northern pasture again, I presume?"

"Yes, exactly. And Tom refuses to drive there on his own."

On any other day this would have earned her another acid remark about Tom Kerrey's dubitable qualities in general and his courage in particular, but Bernie Smithers remembered what he had seen in Ezra Donohue's cottage only too well not to understand Tom's fear. "Ask him to wait, Marge… I'll be there any moment."

He put back the radio and turned to call back to Callista Ogilvie who was still patiently waiting on her doorstep.

"Mrs. Ogilvie?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind calling your neighbor and asking him to stay inside? I have to leave now… there's an urgent matter I have to take care of."

Mrs. Ogilvie smiled. "Of course!"

Bernie Smithers started the motor, and the police car disappeared around the bend of Mill Walk; Callista Ogilvie closed the door behind her and returned into her living room.

Some day soon she would have to ask the nice, young doctor in Berwick to adjust her hearing aid. She had no problem understanding people if they stood rather close to her… but if they were talking from beyond a certain distance, she simply missed half of what was said, no matter how much she pumped up the volume of that annoying, little apparatus in her ear. She was forced to lip-read… what had the young policeman told her? Ah yes… he had to leave to care for an urgent matter, and he had already warned her neighbor. All she had to do now was to settle down in front of her TV, ignore the news and watch a video tape of her favorite show, _Upstairs Downstairs_.

She would never admit it in public, but she'd always had a solid crush on Gordon Jackson. His "Mr. Hudson" might be a servant who knew his place, but even so he was a _true _gentleman.

vvvvv

The living room of Stephen Seeker's cottage was very silent while Ruta tried to digest the overwhelming plenitude of new facts that made her head spin.

"So you spent the last eight years far away from England?" she finally asked, taking up the thread of their conversation again.

"I did," he said, sitting down at the table again and slowly refilling his glass. "More or less. And as I said, the time was not wasted. Egypt is a fascinating country, as is the rest of Africa. But the place I benefited most from was doubtlessly Tibet. I found ingredients and recipes there I'd never thought actually existed, and wizards with a knowledge as bottomless as the ocean and as high as the top of the mountains."

He smiled absently, and Ruta stared at him; for a moment the wondrous things he'd seen in a faraway world seemed to be mirrored in his face, and the lines of a bitter and dangerous life were gone without a trace.

"The peaks of those mountains graze the sky," he softly continued, "and the wizards on their slopes spend years and years in search for the perfect ingredients and the matching words for a spell… over there time is like a long, winding river, and it isn't measured in years but in wisdom."

Ruta looked down at her hands.

"You make me wish to see them one day," she finally said. "After all that secrecy and ongoing disguise it must have been a rather… healing experience."

"It was indeed," he replied, "it was actually very restorative to be able to concentrate on what has always been my favorite subject when it comes to the magical arts. Restorative and refreshing."

She raised her gaze to him.

"Then why did you come back?" she asked. "Surely it can't have been your deep longing for the eternal beauty of Albion?"

"No." He stared at his glass, slowly turning the fine stem between long, slender fingers. "I thought I should find out about the well-being of Harry Potter before I decided what to do with the rest of my life."

Their eyes met.

"Are you surprised?"

"Of course not," she retorted. "You spent seven years protecting the boy – why shouldn't you want to find out if your efforts were at long last successful, and what kind of man he is now?"

He looked at her, and for the fraction of a second she had the distinct impression that he tried to read her mind. Suddenly Ruta remembered what Harry had once told her about his miserable efforts to study Occlumency with that particular teacher, and she understood that Stephen Seeker – _Severus Snape_ - was probably skilled enough to reach his aim. She felt a short, cold flickering of fear, but she mastered it, returning his gaze as calmly as possible.

He sighed, breaking the eye contact.

"Your unflinching belief in my sense of responsibility is quite moving, Miss Lupin," he remarked, placing the glass back on the table. She took a deep breath and noticed for the first time that she held her empty coffee cup with a grip hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. "Don't be afraid – I wouldn't risk your trust for the sole purpose of satisfying my curiosity."

She spoke without thinking. "It would take much more than that to lose my trust. I'm not afraid of you."

"Which is remarkable enough."

Ruta looked around in the silent room; suddenly she noticed that most of the deep golden light had gone. Shadows filled the corners. _How long had she been here? It felt like hours._

She rose from the chair.

"I should leave," she said. "I have occupied your time enough as it is."

His eyes were fixed on the deep red wine in his glass.

"I was just thinking of asking Winky to prepare a light dinner," he slowly said. "Just sandwiches, or a salad… if that's not beyond her dignity as a cook. Would you…" He hesitated. "Would you care to join me?"

_"Oh._ - Was that an invitation?"

He cleared his throat, still not looking at her. "Miss Lupin, I may be slightly out of practice, but… yes, of course."

She felt a sudden joy bubble up inside of her, walked over to the table and sat down again, this time opposite of him.

"You must forgive me," she said, feeling a wide smile spread on her face. "It never occurred to me that my interrogation would be rewarded with a dinner in your company."

"You have rather strange ideas about the nature of rewards," he dryly said, but she could see her smile mirrored in his eyes, and her joy grew even stronger. "Sandwiches or salad?"

"Both," Ruta said. "And now I'd love to have a glass of wine."

vvvvv

Half an hour later the special edition of the _Eskdale Gazette_ slipped through the letter slot of Harry Potter's house in Berwick. Ginny Potter missed it – like she had frequently missed the newspapers during the last months – because she was sitting in the living room, singing to Baby James:

_A second little pig,  
Built himself a little house,  
When he heard the Wolf was  
Eating all the pigs, pigs, pigs…_

James laughed, grabbing for the end of his mother's braid. Ginny pressed a kiss against the velvet soft brow and tickled his belly.

_With a huff and then a puff,  
Old Wolf ate him soon enough,  
For the silly pig had built his house  
With twigs, twigs, twigs…_

vvvvv

At the same time the newspaper lay unnoticed outside Stephen Seeker's cottage in St. Mary Green, a pale, rectangular spot, hidden in the shadows of the empty porch. The black headline said:

**Mysterious murderer kills helpless old man and his dog**  
All Citizens of St. Mary Green and Berwick are strongly cautioned not to leave their homes

Author's Note: _Beatrix Potter bought her first house, Hill Top, in Near Sawrey. People in that village near Lake Windermere still remember her as the lady who saved a big part of their area as a heritage for the National Trust._


	8. Wolf's Moon

Chapter Seven  
**Wolf's Moon**

**9.00 p.m.**

When Ruta Lupin left Stephen Seeker's house, the sky had a lilac tone, seamed by thin streaks of pink and orange. A heavier band of clouds was drifting in from the steep hills in the east, obscuring the waning, pale moon. She inhaled deeply when she stood on the doorstep, turning to her host; the air smelled of the coming rain.

"Thank you," she said. "For the true story, the wine and the food. It was a real joy."

"And an easy pleasure for me, Miss Lupin," he answered, almost smiling at her. "If you should feel the need to know any more details, I'd be willing to… enlighten you."

"I would like to hear more about Tibet," she retorted, a humorous glint in her eyes. "I wonder if you ever met the Yeti – or if it was a mere chimera of Gilderoy Lockhart's colorful imagination."

"Oh no," he quietly said. "The Yeti is _real_ – only not half as murderous as it's assumed to be. It is a shy creature, and it normally only defends itself if it is attacked."

"Which applies to many people, I think." She held out her hand. "And by the way… my name is Ruta."

For a long moment he was silent, and involuntarily Ruta held her breath. She had overstepped an invisible border, spontaneously but deliberately… and now she was not entirely sure that he wouldn't draw back once again.

"Very well." His fingers closed around hers in a surprisingly strong, warm grip. "And my name is Stephen. Good night… Ruta."

"Good night, Stephen." She turned away and walked down the path and through the garden gate, her steps fleet-footed and fast; she could feel his gaze following her until she heard the soft click of the closing door. Only then did she allow the deep joy inside her to warm her face.

vvvvv

**9.07 p.m.**

The smile lingered on her lips until she turned around the corner of the small road that led to her own house. Her neat, little front garden was shadowed by the feathery, hanging branches of a willow, and the air was heavy with the scent of the ivory white _Cymbeline _roses blooming behind the wall. She was searching for the keys in the pocket of her robe when she suddenly noticed a hunched figure under the slate-roofed porch that guarded her front door. Thunder rumbled overhead – the thickened clouds were now rapidly darkening the sky, and for some reason the street lamps had not yet come alight. She paused, trying to penetrate the shadows with her eyes.

"Hello…?"

"It's… it's me." The voice was as small and miserable as the boy staring up at her.

_"Teddy?" _She hurried over to him, filled with a mixture of anger and surprise. "What on earth are you doing here? Gran Dromeda will be completely beside herself if she finds out that you have disappeared!"

"I know." Now the tone was even more miserable. "But… I couldn't stand it. I simply couldn't."

Ruta felt the first, heavy drops of rain in her hair and pulled the boy deeper into the shelter of the porch, sitting beside him on the wooden box where she kept her hand tools. "Couldn't stand what?"

"You being mad at me," he whispered. "You don't _talk_ to me. You… you talk to Gran, you talk to that stupid Mr. Seeker… but not me. And you talk to Harry _about_ me! You've told him _everything!"_ Now it was a full-blown accusation, and despite her righteous chagrin she felt that he was not completely wrong.

"I had to," she said gently. "He is your godfather, and he had every right to demand an explanation. But you shouldn't be wandering around at this time of night," she sternly continued, trying to take up the educational reins again. "Your house arrest doesn't end until tomorrow."

"I know." He hung his head. "But I wanted to see you. You haven't read me any bedtime stories for nearly two weeks. Where… where have you been in the evenings when you didn't visit Gran Dromeda and me?"

Ruta hesitated. "I have… I have been taking chess lessons. Mr. Seeker offered to teach me the game."

She could see the boy's lip twitch in something that looked suspiciously like disgust.

"I don't like Mr. Seeker," he said bluntly. "Since you met him, you don't have any time for m… for Gran and me. You talk to him all the time, and now you go and play _chess_ with him." He took a shaky breath. "And I had to write a letter to apologize for… for that stupid medal, and Gran made me write it twice even though I got almost all the words right the first time, and Mr. Seeker didn't even answer!"

Unable to hold back any longer, Ruta pulled him into a hug. After stiffening for a second, he relaxed and with palpable relief leaned into her touch, giving a rather watery sniffle and burying his face against her shoulder.

"If there was no answer, I am sure it was not because he didn't care," she gently replied. "Perhaps he simply didn't know what to say… he's not very used to apologies. And I'm certain his anger about the medal is long over."

She pressed a quick kiss in the tousled hair.

"And I'm no longer angry, too," she whispered. "I shouldn't have stayed away for so long. I'm really sorry."

He raised his head and looked up at her, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Will you come tomorrow and read _The Little Witch_ to me? Gran refuses to read the same chapter more than three times."

"Most understandable," Ruta said with a grin. "But before _I_ make any promises, we should get you back home. Perhaps I'll be able to smuggle you in before she notices that you were gone in the first place… or we will be _both_ in trouble."

She watched the heavy drops, splashing on the flagstone path, and pulled the boy close once more.

"I'll tell you something, Teddy," she said. "The storm is passing, and it's time I saw you safe in bed for the night. But we should wait until the rain is over – how about a short story right now?"

vvvvv

**9.09 p.m.**

Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter Apparated in Berwick just as the first, hesitant drops had turned to a steady drum roll of rain on the roof. They entered the house, shaking themselves like a pair of wet dogs. When Ginny saw their dripping coats, she snorted audibly and removed the puddles on the wooden floor with a short, resolute flick of her wand.

They settled down in the fire lit living room; Harry let Jamie bounce on his lap and Ginny brought two steaming mugs of Butterbeer. Neville sat in the rocking chair, reverently fingering a book about rare herbs in Normandy and Brittany that he had purchased that afternoon at _Flourish & Blotts._

"Do you have something left for dinner, love?" Harry called, tickling his son, who gave a giggle of delight. "I've had nothing but a cup of mediocre coffee and some terribly dry muffins today, and I could put away a whole flock of sheep."

"You'll have to settle for chicken breast and spinach, my heart," Ginny replied blithely. "Ruta was here today, and we made enough food to stuff you both to the brim."

"Chicken breast sounds fine," Harry said, secretly grimacing (he hated spinach nearly as much as Neville hated Brussels sprouts). "And if you just add some chips and vinegar, you'll have an extremely happy husband. Is the Muggle newspaper anywhere around?"

"Don't overdo it!" Ginny's laughing voice came out of the kitchen. "You'll try at least one or two spoonfuls of Ruta's cream spinach – even Jamie didn't spit it out! – and I'm pretty sure you'll manage the way to the letter slot without collapsing in the vestibule. It must be out there somewhere."

"I'll go and fetch it," Neville volunteered, laying the precious book aside and hauling himself out of the rocking chair, "though I'll never figure out why you constantly have to read that silly stuff."

"Information," Harry said, raising an educational forefinger – and spoiling the effect when he had to rescue his glasses from his son's grasp. "I want to know about what's happening in the area, and since the Wizarding papers pretty much ignore the Muggle news, the local paper's the best way to find out. And it is _not_ silly stuff."

"Car racing!" Neville gave a suppressed snort. "What could be sillier than two pages about a handful of Muggles, sitting in those stinking, roaring machines and mindlessly driving round in circles, in some ugly town in the middle of Belgium?"

"Not in the _Eskdale Gazette,"_ Harry retorted, vividly remembering Neville's first, gobsmacked encounter with a Muggle sports magazine. "And I doubt a racing driver would find it easy to get the concept of Quidditch – I certainly had some difficulties at first."

_"Ha!"_ That was Ginny again, every inch the celebrated Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies. Neville laughed and toddled off into the vestibule.

Harry settled in his stuffed chair a little bit more comfortably; Jamie was a warm, living weight in his arms, nestling against his shoulder and yawning. In few minutes the baby would be sleeping and ready to be carried over to the nursery. Harry watched Ginny, laying the table in the small dining room, and again a breathless wonder about what he possessed hit him like a gentle blow. A delicious smell wafted in from the kitchen, and he decided that his domestic peace was certainly worth a few spoonfuls of spinach…

_"Harry."_

He turned, the sudden movement startling a small sound of protest out of James.

Neville stood in the door to the vestibule, the familiar, daily editions of the _Eskdale Gazette_ and the _Daily Prophet_ in his left hand. The other hand clutched a third newspaper, scarcely more than four pages. Harry saw the expression on his face and quickly rose from his chair.

"Neville? What is it?"

"Here."

Harry took the slim newspaper and saw the headline, his eyes widening as he began to read.

**Mysterious murderer kills helpless old man and his dog**  
All Citizens of St. Mary Green and Berwick are strongly cautioned not to leave their homes

By Ernie Pembroke

_This morning Ezra Donohue (age 81) was found murdered in his cottage in St. Mary Green by Constable Bernie Smithers, who had noticed the door of the cottage on Oak Lane standing ajar during his usual rounds. Donohue's dog was also found dead. Both victims were badly mauled._

_Donohue was recently held under suspicion of being connected with the mass escape of sheep at Tom Kerrey's farm, said Kerrey's mother-in-law, Mrs. Eleanor Carpenter of Mill Road. "The poor old man blamed it on a monster from the hills," she told our reporter this afternoon. "But we never took it seriously. The footprints near the paddock were huge, and his was the only dog large enough to match them. But it was hard to understand Ezra, he was a bit of a recluse, and very eccentric and shy."_

_Shy or not, he may have been right about the monster. Constable Smithers feels that whatever killed man and dog, it couldn't have been human, and the initial reports from the pathology lab agree. The pathologist in Keswick, Dr. Franklin Beresford, confirms that the wounds inflicted on the bodies were made by large claws and fangs. "Razor sharp," he warns. "Some kind of big predator – perhaps escaped from a zoo or more likely a private game preserve. We've asked every authorized animal facility to check their numbers."_

_People are asked to stay indoors as much as possible, and to keep windows sealed. Report any unusual sounds by calling 999, but do not attempt to get close to the beast. The authorities are doing everything possible to capture or contain it, and our newspaper will keep you informed._

Under the article Harry saw a black and white photograph, showing a rather shabby little cottage. The door was nearly broken from its hinges, and though the remains of Ezra Donohue and the dog had been mercifully removed, the huge dark spots on the doorstep and some ugly, long splashes on the wall revealed enough about the drama to make Harry's stomach lurch. There was barrier tape everywhere, and half a dozen men with rubber gloves were examining the ground scrupulously.

He raised his eyes from the page, finding his own dismay mirrored in Neville's face. The youngest professor for Herbology suddenly seemed to have lost a good dozen years of age: he looked every inch like the frightened little boy who, during his first year at Hogwarts, had miraculously attracted every disaster possible.

"Remember what Ruta told us yesterday about the old man?" he murmured.

_A monster in the hills._ Harry felt a shudder running down his spine, and he tightened his grip around Baby James in an unconscious gesture of protection.

vvvvv

**9.19 p.m.**

Most of the rain had come and gone in a short, heavy shower, and the few laggard drops were warm on the skin, so Ruta didn't want to wait any longer. A quick drying charm would get rid of the remaining dampness as soon as Teddy was home.

"I could climb up Gran's trellis," he offered eagerly while they were walking along Mill Road towards the bend that led to Andromeda's cottage.

"You will do _nothing_ of that sort," Ruta firmly said. "The last thing we need right now is you breaking your neck while sneaking back in after you snuck out without permission."

"How do you think I got out?" Teddy retorted, giving her a cheeky grin. Ruta shook her head.

"You're incorrigible."

It was very silent; apart from their united steps, she could barely hear a sound. Like earlier that evening she found it a bit odd that no one could be found outside; it was still summer, after all, the holidays weren't over yet and she would at least have expected a few neighbors, returning from a visit, or children besides her nephew, coming home from a careless trip.

As soon as Teddy was safely delivered into the care of his unsuspecting grandmother, she would take the time to sit down in peace and ponder the day. She could still hear the quiet, hoarse voice, telling her about strange, faraway places, about landscapes unseen and the mysteries of rare, healing draughts, never brewed before.

_Your trustworthiness may be completely unexpected, but it is highly welcome._

Again she felt her face relax in a secret smile, and her feet found the familiar way to Andromeda's house almost on their own while she ambled along, lost in thoughts. -

It was the _smell_ that startled her out of her reverie… a nauseating odor of rancid sweat and dirt, and of something else that made the fine hair on the back of her neck rise in alarm.

_Blood._ Something – _someone_ – smelled of blood.

She stopped abruptly, keeping Teddy's hand in a hard grip.

"Aunt Ruta?" He tried to free himself. "Aunt Ruta, what is it?"

_"Shhhh…"_

The street was only dimly lit by a single streetlight down the road. But now her senses were sharpened by a sudden foreboding of danger; they registered the steps of yet another person on the sidewalk, and then the odor hit her again like a cloud and made her gasp.

She reacted as she had been taught all those years ago back in school, and to her gratitude her instincts still worked. A turn of her wrist, and the willow wand slipped out of her sleeve and into her hand.

_"Lumos!"_

Now she could see clearly. The very next moment a dark, tall figure stepped out of the shadows merely ten yards ahead of her. It was a man, with grey, unkempt hair and scrubby whiskers, his loose, long coat littered with big dark blotches… and with horrendous clarity she understood where the blood stench came from, for she _knew_ this man, this spawn of darkness and evil, and it took all her force of will not to drop her wand from fingers that had suddenly turned cold and numb.

"What a _pleasure!"_ The low, raspy voice was filled with cruel mirth. "The last time we met you were much younger, my little poppet, and I found you much more… _tempting._ But I won't complain - your sweet cousin was a real treat. And look what a juicy morsel you have found me today!"

_Teddy. Please, not Teddy._

Without thinking, she pushed the boy behind her, one arm holding him under the cover of her ample robe for protection, the other one pointing the wand at the creature in front of her. The clouds above their heads drifted apart, and the light of the waning moon brightened the road and was mirrored in the puddles on the uneven asphalt.

_He can't change,_ Ruta thought, filled with sudden hope. _Thank heavens, the full moon is over, and he is unable to turn into a wolf._ She saw the slim chance that was given to her and used it.

_"Stupefy!"_

vvvvv_  
_

**9.21 p.m.**

"What kind of…" Harry's and Neville's eyes met again. "Surely it can't be a _werewolf_, can it?"

"That's hardly possible." Neville said, turning to the calendar on the wall. "Not the right time of the month."

"Hmmm…" Harry automatically began to stroke Jamie's head. The feeling of the small skull and the downy hair under his hand normally never failed to calm him… but this time the simple gesture wouldn't work its ancient, wondrous spell.

"But if it isn't a werewolf, what else could it be? A runaway tiger from a circus?"

Neville shot him a surprised gaze. "A circus?"

"A company of jugglers and acrobats, doing their performances in a tent," Harry explained. "They travel from town to town, and they often have wild beasts, even lions and polar bears… or camels."

Neville cleared his throat. "Harry, I _know,"_ he said. "Gran took me to a circus once or twice when I was a child."

_"Oh."_ Harry felt slightly stupid. "Of course."

"But if a lion or a tiger had escaped from a circus, the Muggles would know about it, wouldn't they? Circuses don't have that many animals," Neville continued, a deep, vertical fold between his eyebrows. "That guy from the newspaper wrote that it must have been 'some big kind of predator'. And even though I guess that Muggle pathogol… _pathologist_ knew what he was talking about, he still wasn't sure _exactly _what kind of animal killed the old man."

"Very well," Harry said. "But what kind of animal could it be, then? Is it possible that it is a wolf, escaped from some game reserve?"

"Perhaps," Neville stepped over to the window, looking outside. The rain had stopped while they were talking, and the thick clouds were rapidly sailing past the shrunken silver disc in the sky. "But normal wolves are extremely shy when it comes to people. I don't think that one of them would easily attack an old man in his house. It would kill and eat sheep to still its hunger. And the article only says something about a 'mass escape of sheep'. Obviously not a single one was killed."

"Instead it was Ezra Donohue who died," Harry slowly said; his Auror instincts began to stir. "And Ezra Donohue was the one who talked about a 'monster in the hills'. He had seen the beast before."

Neville stared at him.

"What do you mean?" he said sharply. "That the poor old bloke was killed because he had noticed something - or _someone_ - and began to tell people about it?"

Harry returned his gaze, a queasy feeling in his stomach. "Why not? Of course…" He got up from his chair and began to pace the room, the drowsy child in his arms. "… of course this would lead us back to the werewolf theory."

"It's not the time in the month for a werewolf to attack," Neville reminded him patiently.

"It's not the time for a _normal_ werewolf," Harry answered, his mind working furiously. "There is _one _werewolf I know who wouldn't care the least if the moon is full or not as long as he's after someone. He's as much a monster in human form as he is when he's changed."

Neville took a deep breath.

"Greyback," he softly said. "You're talking about Fenrir Greyback." Harry saw that he swallowed convulsively. "But Harry… believe me, that's _impossible."_

"Can you prove to me that he is dead?" Harry retorted. "I know you and Ron brought him down during the Second Battle, but… can you _swear_ to me that he really died? Did anybody find his carcass, eight years ago?"

"N… no." Neville's tone was almost angry.

"He might be still alive," Harry said. "And he would have no qualms about torture or murder. And if he managed to stay hidden during the past several years, and has now decided to come here…"

"But why?" Neville shook his head. "Harry, what for?"

Suddenly everything made sense. _It was sheer madness, but it still made sense._

"Ginny?!"

The name of his wife came out much more sharply than intended; Jamie winced in his grip and began to cry. Ginny appeared on the doorstep, eyebrows risen.

"Sorry, love," Harry said, handing over his son. "It seems as if we have a case of emergency here. Would you take Jamie… and read this?"

He handed her first his son and then the slim edition of the _Eskdale Gazette_. She settled the child firmly on her hip and began to read. After a short, tense moment of silence she raised her head, visibly paling.

"A wild animal?" she whispered. "And it killed that poor, old man?"

"Yes," Harry grimly said. "But it was not a _normal_ animal. I strongly believe that it was Fenrir Greyback."

He ignored his wife's shocked gasp and Neville's attempt to interrupt him once again, and continued in a soft and urgent tone.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I don't have the time to explain everything right now. I would like you to take Jamie, love, and leave for The Burrow, at once. I don't think he's after me or my family, but… I won't take a risk if I don't have to."

Ginny stared at him, and he waited, quivering with nervousness. Suddenly her lips formed a narrow, determined line.

"And I won't either," she said, stepping forward and giving him a short, intense kiss; he could feel the warm body of the sleepy child between them. "I'll go and pack a small bag… but before I do, would you tell me who Greyback is after if we are _not_ his target?"

"Teddy," he replied. "He's after Teddy… and perhaps after Ruta, too. Teddy's grandfather insulted him, and he took revenge by biting Teddy's father. Remus was only the first Lupin he brought that curse upon, and now he's returned to finish his work of destroying the whole family."

"You shouldn't try to face him alone," Ginny said, her face hard with frozen fury. "Take Neville with you, he already brought him down once, and he deserves a second chance to free the world from this piece of filth." She spun around and left the room; Harry could hear her fast steps on the stairs.

He turned to Neville. "I hope I'm imagining things, but if I'm not..."

Neville nodded. "Better safe than sorry. Let's go."

vvvvv

**9.24 p.m.**

A bolt of red light hit Greyback's neck; he reeled, but he didn't fall, shattering Ruta's hopes that she might be strong enough to bring him down alone. With a sinking heart she realized that her possibilities to protect herself and the child were limited. She had never been an overly enthusiastic student in Defense against the Dark Arts, and keeping herself out of the line of fire had robbed her of the chances to gain the battle practice she so desperately needed now.

_Think of the fairytales. _

Remus' voice, as loud and clear as if he stood by her side. She blinked, a tremor running down her back, and suddenly her mind was filled with the warm, green-golden light of a summer afternoon more than fifteen years ago, and the memory of her cousin, telling her how people used to fight werewolves in ancient times… about the moon and the metal that was so closely connected to it.

_If I should ever change in your presence, this is how you can fight me back. _

She could only hope that he was right. To her surprise, her lips curled to a small, ironic smile. _He had been an expert, after all._

She raised her wand again, drawing a tetragon into the rain-damp air.

_"Murus Argentum!" _

At first the spell seemed to have no effect. Then all of a sudden, a brick appeared out of nowhere, an exact reflection of the outlines her wand had traced. A second brick appeared, then a third and a fourth, and more, forming a wall of semi-translucent, shimmering silver… a wall, high enough to hide Greyback's bewildered face, a wall, closing around him like a tower without any way out.

Ruta exhaled sharply and felt Teddy's ice cold fingers close around her hand. When the boy spoke, his voice trembled almost as violently as her knees.

"What… what was that?"

She swallowed. "Old tales say that werewolves can only be defeated or killed with silver. I'm definitely not capable of killing him, and I don't know how long the spell will take to wear off. We must get away from here, quickly."

They had only made a few, hasty steps when she heard the voice behind her and froze on the spot. Teddy stumbled and clung to her sleeve.

"Very amusing." It was almost a purr. "I must admit, though, that the wall was a nice idea. Did that tasty little cousin of yours teach you the trick? Most original, really."

She turned around, her eyes wide with shock. The wall had dissolved into thin air; Fenrir stood barely fifteen feet away, stretching lazily, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Surprised?" He laughed, an ugly, snarling sound. "Did you really think I wouldn't have learned how to survive by now? I know damned well that the Dark Lord saw nothing more in me than a mere tool -- a serviceable bloodhound, as it were… and that his precious Death Eaters never really took me seriously at all."

The tone of his voice was surprisingly bitter, but it grew increasingly self-satisfied as he continued to speak.

"And look where they are now – the Dark Lord defeated by a silly boy, most of his mindless minions dead or rotting away in their filthy cells in Azkaban. They are defeated, and I am not. I am still here."

He laughed again.

"I have found allies even the Dark Lord never dreamt of. I have found power beyond all imagination. Now silver can do me no harm, and the moon doesn't rule over my life any longer. _Now it is I who rules over the moon."_

Greyback slowly came closer, licking his lips.

"And I will take your cousin's offspring as my cub," he murmured, his eyes glittering. "I will teach him the sweetness of human blood and the delight of torn flesh. But first of all I will have you, my poppet. It is time… I have been waiting to have you for more than thirty years."

She stared at him, spellbound as a rabbit in front of a snake. Her mouth was dry… and suddenly there was a shrill scream, sharp and angry like a whiplash.

"You won't hurt my aunt!"

_Teddy?_

The boy stood in front of her, straight as a spear. She had no idea how on earth he planned to defend her, not even when exactly he had let go of her fingers, but amidst her icy panic and hopelessness his chivalry warmed her heart. Before she could make any attempt to pull him back, he reached out with his right hand, pointing at Greyback in a gesture of accusal and damnation.

"You won't hurt my aunt!" he repeated, and suddenly a dart of flame appeared on Greyback's throat, singeing the blotchy coat and climbing toward the eyebrows and whiskers of the creature threatening them. Greyback jerked back with a horrified yelp, and Ruta finally felt free from her helpless rigor. She swung her wand.

_"Incendio!"_

A barrier of fire leaped up between them, washing the road, the sidewalk and the houses to the left and the right in blazing gold and crimson. Teddy cried out again; fresh showers of sparks danced in Greyback's scruffy hair, and he reared up, his yelp turning to a bestial howl.

She whirled around, yelling: "Teddy, _run!"_

Teddy did his best to obey. He darted off, splashing though the puddles towards Dromeda's house. But then he made the mistake of looking back for one fatal second, and his naked toes in the leather sandals hit the curbside. Ruta heard him cry out as he lost his footing and fell lengthwise on his face. He rolled on his back; his right leg was bent in a painful, awkward angle. Only seconds later she was by his side. There was no time and no need to examine the leg… they both knew that he wouldn't be able to flee.

_"Crucio!"_

The curse hit her from behind, setting every nerve and muscle aflame with raging pain. Ruta felt her own body crash down on the sidewalk beside Teddy, limbs twitching uncontrollably while she screamed her agony into the damp asphalt. Far away she felt the wand slip from her fingers.

vvvvv

**9.30 p.m.**

Stephen Seeker sat in his study, trying to concentrate on the letter he was writing. He could hear Winky in the kitchen, cleaning plates and cutlery. He lay down the quill and got up from his chair; the short shower of rain was over, and he felt an overwhelming desire for fresh air.

He went out of the door and suddenly stepped on something lying on the floor. He bowed down and found one of the Muggle newspapers he got on a regular basis but seldom read. It was unusually thin, though… perhaps some colorful advertisement he was even less interested in than Muggle gossip. He was about to flick the thin stack of pages into the vestibule when he finally noticed the headline.

Seeker's eyes scanned the letters, taking in the message of the text and widening in sudden comprehension when he understood the meaning and came to the same conclusions as Harry Potter did… and with more evidence, for he _knew _the murderer in this case, knew him all too well, and he knew Remus Lupin's story.

_Ruta was a Lupin, too, as was Teddy._

He grabbed for his cloak and was out of the door before the prudent part of his brain could take over again; he hurried down the rain-damp path and out on the street. The moment he left the garden, he heard a sound from the distance … somebody speaking in a loud, commanding tone, clearly enough to reach his ear, and then the painful shriek of another voice... a voice that wasn't entirely _human._

He didn't allow himself the luxury of qualms or caution. He broke into a run, channeling his strength for the sole purpose of speed; the sound of his steps echoed from the walls of the houses around him where the Muggles had doubtlessly been hiding the whole day, protecting themselves against a danger they could not comprehend.

He reached the bend of the road and from the corner of his eye caught a strange, lingering blaze of brightness down the street to his right. _She must have used an Incendio Spell. Clever idea, but it won't buy her much time._ In a sudden flash of memory he saw Ruta Lupin sitting in his house earlier this evening, her robe a gentle patch of color in the darkening living room; he saw the shimmer of the small jeweled flowers on her earlobes when she turned her head to answer a question… and he heard her voice, warm and quiet, talking to him without distrust or fear.

With a lightning-fast movement Stephen Seeker drew his wand, for once wasting no thought for his long prepared false identity. He spread his arms like the wings of a huge raven taking flight and felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.

vvvvv

**9.32 p.m.**

Ruta heaved a sobbing breath, propping herself up and turning back to the insanity behind her with the stiff clumsiness of an old woman.

Greyback didn't cast the second curse she was expecting. He opened his arms wide, and his coat was ripped apart at the shoulder seams and fell off his body, quickly followed by the torn remnants of breeches and shirt. Hair was sprouting from his pale skin, a fur that rapidly covered his chest, his crotch and his legs. He fell to his knees as his face curved and bulged obscenely, forming a long snout with razor sharp teeth. He easily jumped over the last, flickering flames, four-legged, eyes yellow, shining venom in the moonlit night, and gave a hoarse snarl from deep down in his chest.

She knew that she was lost. Her foe was too fast and too strong, and there was no chance to find her lost wand in time, to run or to wait for any possible help to arrive. He moved towards her with a slow, malicious grace, obviously basking in his unendangered victory. She looked at him, her mind astonishingly cold and clear, filled with a single, conscious thought: _Not Teddy. Better me than Teddy._

She saw the long body in front of her tense, preparing for the deadly leap; she collected all the strength she was able to muster and lunged forward. The swift current of time curdled to the ductile texture of freezing water. Ruta shot through a thick wall of icy silence, noticing with faint surprise and from very far away the feral sound escaping her throat... and then she crashed into her attacker, digging her fingers into fur and skin and feeling a huff of hot, foul breath on her face.

The world was back to normal speed, a screeching maelstrom of noise, fear and anguish. They fell to the ground, clinging to each other in the grim travesty of a lover's embrace. A deafening howl filled her ears, and with a fast, violent movement he rolled her over and was atop her before she had the slightest chance to move. His weight pressed her body against the ground, knocking the air out of her lungs. He aimed for her shoulder, slashing through flesh and bone; the pain was horrid and she felt her grip slacken. Then the sharp teeth dug deeply into her right arm. She had no breath left to scream. From a distance she heard the fading sound of a human voice, yelling words she could no longer discern. The world grew dark, and with exhausted gratitude she spiraled down into oblivion.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

**Author's Notes:**

Neville is referring to the Formula One- car race in Spa. And I share his opinion.

_Murus Argentum _means "Wall of Silver"

Oh – and thank you so much for your patience! Posting chapter 7 took me so long for two reasons: My beta is a busy person, and as soon as she finds the time to check my writing, she sees a dozen things I thoroughly missed before. This makes things a bit more difficult, but it also makes this tale indefinitely better. So, please bear with me… and thank you for all your lovely reviews!


	9. Unexpected Revelations

Chapter Eight  
**Unexpected revelations **

Harry and Neville Apparated onto the path outside of Andromeda Tonks' cottage and stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. For a moment it seemed that their mission was going to be unnecessary. St. Mary Green was as quiet as midnight, and nothing was moving in the fitful light of the waning moon but a tendril of the warning rose that guarded Andromeda's gate, its thorns folding back again as it recognized two authorized visitors.

There was a light in her window. Neville put his wand away, his hand already on the gate latch as if he meant to go inside, but Harry caught his arm. "Wait. I hear..."

The scream came again, no creak of a gate or tree in the wind, but a human voice, and a deeper exultant shout, a distance-mangled word and yet one that still sounded horribly like _"Crucio"._

"That way!" Harry said, already in motion, but Neville was beside him. They ran neck and neck towards the danger, wands ready. But even when they reached the bend in the road they were too far away.

There was no question of which way to go – thirty yards away a line of fire was burning along the pavement, its dying light illuminating the undersides of the unruly branches of an ancient oak. Against the fire a frightening vignette – two silhouettes coming together in battle: one large and bent and bestial, the second smaller but fierce in attack, robes outflung, hiding gender and age. They went down in a tangle together.

Harry put his head down and ran harder, desperate to get within spell-casting range. There were lights coming on in the houses up and down the street in answer to the screams, lights that showed him glimpses of horrent grey fur and blue robe and blood. He raised his wand and went to fling a Stunning Spell at the combatants, thinking to sort them out afterwards, but Neville knocked his hand aside and the spell spun out useless sparks along the asphalt. "No!"

And now Harry could see what Neville had already seen, a smaller, dreadfully familiar figure pulling itself to its feet, interposed between potential rescue and the battle. _"Teddy! Duck!"_ He couldn't risk knocking the boy down, into the midst of the combat.

But the boy was unhearing, frozen perhaps by terror or indecision. For a split-second Harry nearly was, too, and in that moment a new combatant entered the lists. Out of the sky he came, another shadow-shape like a huge bat, sailing down to hover between the dazed child and the roiling figures below.

A few more feet – that's all Harry needed to run in order to deal with this new menace – but the new arrival drew a wand and aimed its malice not at Teddy, but at the creature on the ground.

_"Sectumsempra!" _

The voice was deep, growling, but there was nothing of animal madness in it. The werewolf, stung by the spell, unloosed his prey and staggered back, then coiled to spring.

_"Sectumsempra!" _

This time the curse drove the beast back, past the diminishing line of fire, and Harry could see the blood springing from a long cut across its chest. It was Greyback all right. There was no mistaking him, not in any guise. _How on earth had he been able to change?_

The flying man lowered himself to the ground and stalked forward. The werewolf growled and made ready to attack.

"Who is that?" Neville gasped as he and Harry came at last to a halt by Teddy's side.

"I don't care," Harry said, glad to finally be safe to act. "He's got the right idea."

He raised his wand and added his own _"Sectumsempra" _to the stranger's, hearing Neville's voice echo his own. Greyback was bleeding badly now, and the curse had taken on a life of its own, drawing new lines of blood across limb and torso. The werewolf made one last lunge for freedom, but sprawled as a curse line severed the tendons of its leg. It crawled towards the tree and fell against the bole, bathed now in blood.

_"Lumos",_ Harry said as he went forward to see what was left of the monster. Neville was beside him, and they stood and watched unmoved as the light left Greyback's yellow eyes and his breathing stilled.

Harry went to bend over his godson, gently touching his back.

"Teddy…?"

The boy stared at him. He didn't speak, but tears were running down his cheeks. Harry scooped him up, holding him close and absorbing the shuddering of the small body as Teddy buried his face against his neck, still making no sound. Harry's hands hastily felt over arms, legs and rump… he found a slightly bruised knee and a twisted leg, but nowhere the sticky wetness of blood.

_"Teddy._ Did he bite you? Did that wolf _bite_ you?"

Harry could feel that Teddy fervently shook his head, and for the fraction of a second his knees grew weak in unspeakable relief.

"It's all right, sprout," he murmured. "You're safe. I'll take you home soon."

Neville ventured closer to the bloody corpse under the tree.

"Did we… did we finally finish him off?" He leaned over the wolf, then cautiously nudged him with a foot. "I can't believe it – that's Fenrir Greyback all right, and he's a damned good reason to use one of the Unforgivables; I wish I had the last time we met."

"You shouldn't," Harry retorted, his tone slightly sharp. "There is a damned good reason why they are banned, believe me." _And a damned good reason why they were called the 'Unforgivables' – using the Crucio Spell in the heat of battle had felt completely appropriate at the time… but he didn't wish anyone the silent horror he had always felt in later years when the thought of that tumultuous moment had crossed his mind._

His eyes sought the werewolf's abandoned victim, but before he could move, a tall figure wordlessly swept past him and knelt down on the ground close to the unmoving form. He saw the man gently touch the neck, feeling for the pulse and waiting in silence… and now Harry finally realized who was lying there.

_Ruta._

Her face was deathly pale and very still, her eyes closed. She wore a robe of gentle blue, but it was torn to shreds over the right arm, the fabric discolored to an ugly, deep black – and the biggest blotch close to the shoulder was still spreading rapidly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the revolt in his stomach, his head spinning with terror and dismay. Neville gave a short, horrified gasp.

"Is she… is she…"

"She's alive," the stranger said, speaking over his shoulder without turning. His voice was low and hoarse. "But she's in dire need of proper treatment."

"The nearest Healer lives in Berwick," Harry heard himself say. "But I don't know if he would be able to deal with… _those_… bites." _Werewolf bites_, he thought, _those are werewolf bites, and you can't even bring yourself to say it aloud._

"Werewolf bites, you mean?" the man quietly replied. "He should, if he hasn't lived through the last twenty years in blissful ignorance. But unfortunately he's not here and we are." _And even if he were here_... Harry remembered that the Healer in question had only just finished his education… a friendly young man, slightly shy and very anxious to make no mistake. _Would he be able to cope with a situation like this?_

All the time the stranger's hands were busy, carefully feeling over arm and shoulder, finding the places where fresh blood was still soaking the torn robe.

_"There…" _He pressed his fingers into the injured flesh. "We shall have to bring her away from this rather… _public_ place, as fast as possible." Now he turned his head, but Harry could barely see more than the glint of eyes under the big hood. And the man didn't look at him, he looked at Neville, scanning him cursorily from head to toe.

"Your cloak, please… and quickly, if you don't mind."

Harry wasn't the least surprised that Neville did as he was told, not even trying to question the calm, steel authority in the man's voice. He slipped out of the baggy garment and handed it over; the man dropped it on the ground and raised his wand.

_"Alligatura!"_

The cloak vanished, and half a dozen bandage rolls appeared in the air. The man murmured a second, nearly inaudible spell, and Ruta's body rose a few inches from the asphalt. Harry watched the stranger work with great swiftness, swathing bandage after bandage around her, immobilizing shoulder and arm. He was glad that Teddy still had his head buried against his shoulder, so he didn't have to watch. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Neville was wringing his hands.

"Will… will she heal?" he asked hesitantly. "How badly is she wounded?"

"Badly enough," the man answered, gently lifting the unconscious woman on his arms. "Muscles and sinews are torn, and the bone in the upper arm is broken." For the first time Harry heard the hint of a grim, almost arrogant smile in his voice. "But never fear, I shan't let her die. – Now go and make yourself useful. Move that carcass over to the tree and turn it in whatever beast of prey you deem appropriate. Collect Greyback's clothing – you'll need it if you mean to trace his movements. But eliminate the other traces, especially the blood. And you'll need fire."

"Why?"

"To destroy any chance of contamination. And the Muggles can believe that their mysterious monster was struck by lightning… There's no chance that the Ministry could possibly find and Obliviate every person who read or heard the news reports about the attack this morning... and now_ hurry! _Company is coming."

From one moment to the next Harry became aware of their surroundings again. Half of the houses down the road had heads crowding in lit windows now, and sirens were approaching, luckily enough not from the direction of Andromeda's house. Harry turned and ran as fast as he was able while carrying Teddy, and the man followed him, Ruta in his arms.

_"Incendio!"_

Fire roared as the treetop of the old oak burst into flames, but Harry didn't waste any more time trying to watch how Neville fulfilled his task; he moved on, and within a minute they were safely within the high hedge of Andromeda's garden. Harry looked at Ruta's deathly pale face, suddenly afflicted by serious doubts.

"Don't you think we should get her to St. Mungo's?"

"Are you truly that dimwitted?" Now the man's voice had a sharp tone of exasperation. "Not in her state! Would you seriously try to Apparate with someone who has suffered those wounds —you'd risk splinching half her arm away!"

_"Oh._- I didn't think of that."

"Quite obviously," his remarkable ally retorted acidly. "And now I would suggest that you wake up Mrs. Tonks and explain the situation to her, to get us inside and out of sight."

Harry looked at the man whose name he still didn't know – and whose face he still hadn't seen, now that he came to think of it. The guardian roses were twisting with uncertainty, waiting for a known quantity to vouch for the stranger.

"Who _are _you?" he asked, knowing the question came late, and wanting the answer anyway.

Suddenly Teddy raised his head from Harry's shoulder, revealing damp cheeks and puffy eyes.

"That's Stephen Seeker," he sniffled. "Aunt Ruta's new friend."

So this was the mysterious neighbor Ruta had so reluctantly told him of. He could hear her voice like a soft echo in his mind. _Beyond his brusque surface he is a good and trustworthy man. _

As if the memory were enough to appease Andromeda's protections, the roses folded away again. But Harry was still uncertain. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person, Mr. Seeker," he said, feeling unhappily stiff and formal. "I don't think that we would've had a chance to defeat Greyback without your help. Thank you very m…"

"I'm deeply moved, Mr. Potter," Seeker interrupted him brusquely. "But can we now hold off on any further discussions until I've been able to care for her?"

"I'm sorry." Harry turned away, desperately wishing for a few quiet moments to sit down and regain his lost ability to think clearly. _Anyway, Seeker was right… everything else could wait._

He couldn't help but remember the personal losses Andromeda Tonks had already suffered. _Her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law… and now one of her closest friends will be carried into her house, severely wounded, a werewolf's curse in her blood. And I couldn't prevent it._ But having realized the source of his own hesitation at last, there was no point in waiting longer. He straightened his back, steeling himself against her dismay and tears and knocked at the door.

vvvvv

The next half an hour proved to be far less turbulent than he had feared. Of course Andromeda was upset, but after a brief gasp of horror and confusion she coped with the situation quite admirably, accepting the sudden appearance of Stephen Seeker without turning a hair. She immediately herded them all upstairs and went to prepare a room for Ruta, A few minutes later, she paused in the nursery for a moment; she handed Harry a flask of Dittany, a soothing salve and a phial of valerian essence for Teddy, from the tray she'd assembled of the more potent potions and bandages that Seeker had asked for. But she didn't stay, and Harry could see that she was glad to be able to leave Teddy in his care with only a kiss, once she was assured that the boy had taken no serious hurt.

And Teddy had been very lucky; against all misgivings his leg was only sprained, not broken. Harry took care of the leg and tucked the exhausted child into bed. He gave him a spoonful of the valerian in a glass of pumpkin juice and sealed the nursery with a few silencing spells against the tohuwabohu of sounds and flickering lights outside on the street (where the Muggles were putting out the fire and probably tried to make sense of the confusing evidence Neville had left behind). They would also keep the boy from hearing any cries that might come from the room where Andromeda and Seeker were tending Ruta. Then he waited until Teddy's eyes fell closed and hurried down again into the small living room looking out to the back garden.

His gaze found the cage where Dromeda's screech owl was sleeping… but no, even the fastest bird would take too long tonight.

_The Floo Network, then. _

Harry sighed, took a pinch of Floo Powder out of the small bowl on the mantelpiece and tossed in into the fire. He grimaced, stepped into the green flames and endured the sickening blur of movement that carried him away… until the fire spat him right into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office in the Ministry.

vvvvv

Ten minutes later he burst out of a kitchen fireplace, this time nearly one hundred miles further east, in the Burrow.

The room was empty, save for the slender young woman sitting at the kitchen table, staring tensely into a cup of tea. When the light from the fireplace turned from red to green, she raised her head and jumped up so carelessly that her chair tipped over with a loud bang.

_"Harry!" _

Ginny threw herself into his arms, and for a precious moment he allowed himself to be calmed and comforted by the flower-scent of her hair and the warmth of her touch. But just as he was about to push her back as gently as possible, it was she who stepped back first and gave him a sharp, inquiring look.

"Were you right? Was it Greyback?"

"It was. But he's dead," Harry said. He hated to blow out the triumph flaring up in her eyes, but he continued nonetheless. "Too late to stop him from doing any damage though."

Ginny paled and bit her lip, thinking of the most obvious danger. "Did he hurt Andromeda? Or Teddy?" Now the triumph was replaced by sheer panic. "Did he _bite_one of them? _Harry?" _

"Ruta." Harry sighed. "He bit Ruta, and badly. She is in good hands and will probably survive, but I need help."

He broke off, trying to sort his thoughts.

"Ron and Hermione are still in France, in that house in St. Guenolé… would you Apparate there and ask Ron to come back at once and meet me and Neville in St. Mary Green?"

"Can't the other Aurors help you?"

"I can't take the chance. I know Ron and Hermione can keep a secret. Trust me, Ginny, the last thing we need right now is Rita Skeeter, sniffing around in St. Mary Green like a greedy bloodhound. I just met with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he's going to find a Mediwizard to come and tend Ruta – one who can keep quiet."

He held her a little closer, unable to explain the worst of it to her now, even with the Minister of Magic's permission.

"Ginny... please..." _If the news got out that Greyback had fully changed without a full moon it would destroy the lives of anyone who had ever been one of his victims, his brother-in-law Bill included._

"I'll tell them what you have told me," Ginny said. "And I'll send them both. You might need Hermione's help to stuff Skeeter's mouth if she gets wind of the story. They could leave Rosie here; Mum will be more than pleased to take care of yet another baby."

"Thank you, love." Harry kissed his wife and turned back to the fireplace again. "I'll return to Dromeda's house now, and I have no idea how long it will take to sort things out over there." He helped himself with a good dose of Floo Powder and vanished once more in a green roar of flames.

Ginny stared after him; now her face lost the rest of its color as the grimmest part of the message Harry had brought finally sank in.

_He bit Ruta._

Her knees grew weak, and she sat down heavily at the table once more, closing her fingers around the cup and then pushing it away. She felt thoroughly sick.

vvvvv

Harry returned to St. Mary Green barely half an hour after he had left: spotlights and the circling blue lamp of a police car still brightened the road, and he registered the dark silhouette of a reporter speaking into a microphone while he was filmed. _BBC Cumbria _had obviously discovered the latest development of the drama.

Neville was watching the complicated machinations of the Muggles from the shadows, but he nodded to Harry and signaled that he had things well in hand, so Harry went back to Dromeda's house to fulfill the mission that Shacklebolt had given him – to guard Greyback's victims. But whether he was guarding them from danger, or guarding them to make sure they were no danger, he wasn't entirely sure.

He slipped into the house and went upstairs, but there were voices and lights in Ruta's sickroom so he went first to double-check on Teddy. When he cautiously opened the door, he heard a soft, drowsy voice from the direction of the bed.

"Uncle Harry…?"

"Yes, sprout, it's me. I thought you were asleep."

"No. I mean… yes, I was. And then I woke up again, and I was… thinking." A short pause. "Could… would you please read me a bedtime story?"

Harry swallowed his impatient reply before the words could form, secretly angry at himself. His godson had been through a nightmare, and he'd just left him alone. No matter. It would do no harm now to sit down and do as the boy wished.

Harry took the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ from the shelf. He'd never known those ancient fairytales as a child, but had recently started to cherish them for Teddy's sake, and he hoped the familiarity of them would be soothing. But when he started to read, the boy barely seemed to listen, shifting restlessly under the covers.

"Will… will Aunt Ruta be a werewolf now, too?" he asked abruptly.

Harry raised his eyes from the book and looked at him; he seemed very frail and frightened in his big bed.

"Will… will she turn into a monster each time the moon is full?" Teddy's gaze was dark with fear. "Like… like my father?"

Harry closed his eyes, for a few moments at a complete loss for words. _How should he answer a question like that?_ Was it fair to burden a child like Teddy with all of the fears of his elders? But then he remembered the many years he had spent in the frantic search for his lost history and a fate no one would fully reveal to him - not even Albus Dumbledore, the man he had trusted more than anyone else. He swallowed and decided for the truth.

"Yes, Teddy," he slowly said. "She probably will. But we'll help her as best as we can. And she won't be a monster. Not like Greyback. She doesn't want to be, any more than your father did."

Teddy sat up, his face pale and miserable. "It's all _my_ fault," he blurted out. "When Mr. Seeker told me that I should keep away from his things, I had already… I mean, he gave me a book about dragons, and it was really good, with great pictures, but I was so curious what he might keep in that huge, old chest of drawers, and I simply had to have a look… and no one noticed, and then I got to know Winky, and she gave me Danish Pastry and cocoa and apple juice, and I had no chance to put it back, but I simply couldn't tell him, could I? And then I went home, and when Aunt Ruta brought me to bed that evening, she found the medal and was mad at me. And I wasn't allowed to see Mr. Seeker to apologize, you know, I had to write a letter, and I'm not good at writing letters, and Aunt Ruta didn't come to visit me, and so I went to see her… and then the werewolf came and… It's all my fault. ." He gave a hiccupping sob and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his pajamas.

Harry would have appreciated that sudden outburst of confessions much more had it not been for the name popping up amidst the desperate torrent of words.

"Winky?" he asked, frowning. "Who is Winky?"

"Mr. Seeker's house-elf," Teddy said. "She is very nice… only a bit shy, you know. And now she's mad at me, too." he added sorrowfully.

"He has a house-elf named _Winky?"_

"Why… of course!" Now it was Teddy's turn to frown. "That's not so strange… you have a house-elf, too, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have indeed," Harry answered, trying to sort his thoughts. "Listen, Teddy… it is not _your_ fault that a crazy werewolf decided to come here and bite you, not at the least. He was a dangerous, evil creature. I'm incredibly glad that we managed to get rid of him tonight… and that your aunt protected you the way she did. She was incredibly brave. And so were you."

He rose from his chair, closing the book and putting it aside. He looked around in the lovely room, lit by a candelabra and a beautiful, old _Laterna Magica;_ the vivid figures of centaurs silently galloped along the walls. Then he reached out and ruffled the boy's unruly mop of hair.

"Try to sleep," he gently said. "I'll be outside for a moment, but I'll leave the candles burning for you, and I'll come back later to blow them out."

"Thank you," Teddy whispered. "And the _Laterna,_ too… Gran always says that the centaurs will keep protecting me." He blushed with a certain embarrassment, and Harry felt himself smile.

"Of course they will," he said, "As do I. Good night, Teddy."

"Good night, Uncle Harry."

Harry went out, softly closing the door. What he needed right now was a breath of fresh air and a quiet place to think; he ran down the stairs and found himself outside in the garden, leaning against the rough plaster of the wall.

_A house-elf named Winky._

Images and memories milled in his head. The Winky he knew had served the Crouch family; but after the death of Barty Crouch Sr. and the miserable fate of his son she had literally lost her purpose in life. He remembered meeting her in Hogwarts, constantly drunk and bathing in self-pity. If Mr. Seeker's house-elf was the same Winky – and only _if_ – she must have found herself a new master. But where, and when? Winky had never left the famous school until the Second Battle; after the Dark Lord's defeat – and still feeling the loss of Dobby like a fresh wound - Harry had completely lost track of her.

_Stephen Seeker_.

The little he knew about the man was what Ruta had told him - that and what he'd seen this evening. The dark figure, sailing through the air like some phantasmagorical _deus ex machina_, the dark, vibrant voice, yelling the spell that brought down Greyback… He recollected each and every single moment of the fight they had just won, memorizing the gestures, the words they had spoken.

_Sectumsempra._

Suddenly he remembered his own voice, trying that spell for the very first time against Draco Malfoy… the frightened, spooky descant of Moaning Myrtle, echoing from the walls of the toilet, together with Draco's screams of pain… He also remembered Severus Snape's icy rage, and after nearly ten years of thinking and trying to find a deeper understanding for his personal life-long drama, he regarded his own role in this scene with honest regret. He had toyed with that new spell like a toddler with a box of matches, careless of the danger. He could have killed Malfoy as they had killed the werewolf this evening… Snape's furious desire to see him expelled had been more than justified.

_Sectumsempra._

He remembered the wild hunt through the castle; Snape, waiting for him and tauntingly demanding to see his edition of Advanced Potion-Making... and he, trying to bluff those sharp eyes with Ron's book. Terribly foolish, and completely useless to boot, for Snape had known without a doubt where the spell came from, he himself had scribbled it into the book of the Halfblood Prince, his book… And Remus' ghostly voice came back to him, after Moody's death and after George had lost his ear through a misfired curse: _"Sectumsempra_ was always a specialty of Snape's."

_How many wizards did he know who were actually able to fly?_

It felt like a veil, drawn back from a hidden picture… like blinking into a blinding light, and Harry stood in the silent garden, mouth wide open, as the revelation hit him with full force.

There was only one wizard beside Voldemort he knew who could fly – he had seen him fleeing Hogwarts through a window on the day of the Second Battle, McGonagall and Flitwick's spells hissing after him like red bolts of fire. And there was only _one_ wizard he'd ever seen using _Sectumsempra_ besides himself before this very day… the one wizard who had developed it and written it down.

_No. That was impossible. Severus Snape lay buried on the grounds of Hogwarts, in a glorious, black tomb, his corpse shut away as safely as Harry's memories of him._

_He had seen him die, eight years ago._

Harry turned around and walked back into the house, and somehow he felt as if floating through a surreal dream. He swam through the vestibule and in the direction of the bedrooms, meeting Andromeda halfway on the stairs.

"Hello, Harry," she said, her tired face lighting up in a small smile. "This man – Stephen Seeker – is truly remarkable. I doubt that young Tondrake will be able to care for Ruta as skillfully and gently as he does. I've sent for him of course, and Tiberius is a nice boy, but he left the St. Mungo Healing Academy only half a year ago, and he's still a bit wet behind the ears."

"Yes, Andromeda," Harry replied automatically, her words nothing but a murmurous droning in his ears. "Yes, of course."

"I'm going down to the kitchen," Andromeda said. "I'll brew some tea."

He waited until he could hear the elderly woman puttering around with kettle, mugs and spoons, then he continued his way to where she had prepared a sickbed for Ruta. He stopped in front of the door, still not sure if he wanted to go inside, if he really wanted to know. It would be easy enough to leave, to go out and help Neville deal with Muggles and wait for Ron to come – to pretend that he'd never met the man who called himself Stephen Seeker.

_He had told Teddy the truth about Ruta. Should he settle for a blissful ignorance now, to keep his precious peace of mind? _

For a moment he closed his eyes, then bit his lip and opened the door.

Candles were burning in candelabras on a chest of drawers and on the night stand, like in Teddy's nursery, but instead of showing a merry pattern of smiling dragons, the walls in this room were painted a gentle peach tone. The furniture was white and ornamental, the closed curtains sewn of an iridescent fabric, giving the room the atmosphere of a shell. Harry looked at the silent figure of the woman lying in the bed. She wore a loose nightgown, bulging over thick bandages on shoulder and arm. He could see her chest rise and fall in an almost imperceptible sign of life.

Now his eyes were drawn to the figure sitting in a chair beside the window. He saw the back of his head and his shoulders, clad in black; in this feminine milieu he appeared as misplaced as a crow in a dovecote.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Would you do me the favor of showing me your face?" he asked, his own voice strangely raspy and dull.

The man didn't move, the seconds slowly ticking away while Harry kept waiting for a reaction, heartbeat in his mouth.

Then Ruta's neighbor got up from the chair and turned around, raising his chin; Harry saw a small, sardonic smile on narrow lips and the glint of dark irony in black eyes, and he froze on the spot, staring speechlessly at his former teacher.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Author's Note: _Alligatura_ is the latin word for _bandage_.


	10. A Family Curse

Chapter Nine  
**A Family Curse**

"Blimey, Harry... are you_ sure?"_

Ron Weasley's voice was barely more than a shocked whisper. It was the day after Fenrir Greyback's brutal attack, and he, his wife and Harry Potter were gathered in Andromeda Tonks' silent living room. The late forenoon was cold and grey, driving away the warmth of the late summer with thick clouds and rain. Harry stood in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. He spoke without turning.

"Of course I'm sure. Do you really think I wouldn't recognize _that _face?"

Hermione Weasley sat in the rocking chair close to the window. She wore her lush, brown hair in a thick braid, and her clear face was a little pale. The sudden, middle-of-the-night end to her holiday had left her visibly affected.

"Harry." Her tone was faintly nervous. "It's just… it's just that we saw him die, eight years ago."

"I know." Harry turned to her; his green eyes behind the glasses were tired and angry at the same time. "Only that he didn't _really_ die. So far I have no idea how he survived Nagini's attack - the healer turned up just then, and there wasn't enough time to learn more - but believe me, that man _is_ Severus Snape."

"But what on earth is he doing here?" Ron blurted out, leaning in, both fists on his knees. "I mean, if he's hiding you'd expect him to keep as far away from England as possible... and then he hangs around in this village, just three miles away from where you live?"

"I have no idea... but I intend to find out, and soon." Harry's tone was grim. "Anyway... whatever he is doing here, he helped Neville and me to get rid of Fenrir Greyback. And he's not the reason I sent for you. We already had bigger problems before I knew who he was."

"Oh, I don't know," Ron yawned, but above the long freckled nose his eyes were alert and observant. "I think having a werewolf who's been dead for eight years, killed by a man who's been dead for exactly the same amount of time counts as a pretty big problem. Makes for a good story though."

"It would," Harry gave back, "Except that I was there too, along with Neville, and Rita Skeeter would swallow any bait together with the fishing rod if she saw the chance to write yet another schmaltzy article about a heroic deed of the Boy Who Lived."

Hermione snorted. "She would eat her own wand _raw_ if she knew the rest of that story; Severus Snape rises from his grave to protect you from the most dangerous werewolf alive and the two of you together defeat the menace." She grimaced. "She would probably forget to mention Neville in her article, though."

"_There must be no article_," Harry said, breathing deeply. "Forget about who exactly was the hero yesterday, forget even about Snape - the most important, the most dangerous thing is that Greyback changed into a wolf even though the moon was not full." He saw that Hermione opened her mouth - doubtlessly to object - and raised his hand. "I know it's impossible, but I saw it. Believe me, he _was_ fully changed. I had a short talk with Kingsley Shacklebolt last night, and to say that he was alarmed about Greyback's unexpected ability would be the understatement of the year. This morning - when you still were at The Burrow - he sent me an owl. There were rumors that Greyback had escaped after the battle. Ambrose Smithwick from the Werewolf Capture Unit insists that the strongest possiblilty leads to France and to Austria, but somewhere in Vienna the trace ended in smoke, half a dozen years ago."

He began to pace the room.

"Of course most of the werewolves who joined Voldemort were very cautious just after his downfall… but after a while hunger or greed drove them out of their holes, and the Werewolf Capture Unit caught most of them, dead or alive… but they couldn't find Greyback. So they decided that he'd crawled away to die."

He stood at the window now, his back turned to his friends, speaking softly.

"Last year Shacklebolt received a request for mutual assistance from the Ministry of Magic in Romania. You know how bad it was there under Ceaucescu -- even for magic folk, but they've done a lot better since he's gone and they're chary of asking for help outright. They'd much rather embark on a project of mutual cooperation, to establish friendly and stable relationships."

"Hear, hear!" Ron piped up from the depth of his comfortable chair. Hermione smiled approvingly, and all of a sudden Harry laughed, a mixture of surprise and irony.

"Merlin, I actually sound like one of those unbearably bombastic blokes from the Department of International Magical Cooperation!"

He shook his head.

"Anyway… after a lot of negotiations it seems that they'd come to Shacklebolt and told him that the problems in Transylvania have been getting increasingly worse. They've always had trouble with vampires and werewolves in that area – though you shouldn't believe those silly, old Muggle fairy tales, Vlad Tepeš had nothing to do with it. The truth was much more dangerous. Rumors were spreading about a Werewolf order somewhere in the mountains… and that most importantly, the ancient rules didn't seem to count any longer."

_"A werewolf will change with the full moon, and he shall reliably be killed with silver,"_ Hermione cited softly. Her gaze sharpened when the next piece of the jigsaw suddenly fell into place. "You think that Greyback went there," she stated. "You think that he joined that mysterious order."

Harry nodded. "Kingsley strongly believes so, as does the Minister of Magic from Romania, Antonin Secerescu. They still haven't managed to find out what exactly those werewolves did to free themselves from the limitations of the curse, but whatever it was, they used their new powers with great caution; there were only a handful of victims... and none of them survived. Shacklebolt thinks that Greyback must have spent some time in Transylvania, and that he planned some kind of personal revenge, which was the reason that he returned to England alone... hopefully, at least. Remus once told me that his father offended him; it seems that Greyback very deliberately chose his victim, as a punishment."

"And now, after some mysterious changes Greyback underwent in that order..." Hermione slowly felt her way towards the next, frightening conclusion. "If he were to bite someone, it might well be that a possible victim..." Her eyes widened. "... that a possible victim might inherit..."

Suddenly her husband sat very upright. "But that wouldn't apply to _Bill_, would it?" he said, his voice sharp and loud in the silent room. "Greyback wasn't changed when he wounded him, and he hadn't been in Transylvania yet!" Harry saw that Hermione instinctively reached out; her hand closed around Ron's fist, and slowly his fingers relaxed again.

"Not to Bill," he said. "But it would certainly apply to Ruta... who was the last person he bit in his life. And if there were an article in the _Daily Prophet_... do you really think people would be reasonable enough to notice that Greyback's new power was something he _didn't_ probably have in common with every single werewolf in England?"

"Merlin's heart, you're right!" Hermione whispered, shivering all over. "They would believe that _every _werewolf is able to change whenever he wants, to wound and to kill as he pleases. We would have the perfect witch hunt. And all the revisions we made of those viperish amendments Scrimgeour pushed through would be completely useless. Most prejudices towards werewolves refuse to die out anyway."

She wiped her brow.

"How secret is the whole thing?" she asked. "Here in St. Mary Green, I mean... and in Berwick?"

"Neville did a splendid job," Harry said. "The Muggles who witnessed the attack and the fight had their memories changed, even before Shacklebolt could send out anyone. The local Constable - Bernie Smithers - is being celebrated as the hero of the hour, for now everyone vividly remembers him shooting the beast that threatened the citizens if this village... as he does himself."

"And... Ruta?"

"Still unconscious... because Sn... because _he_ drugged her thoroughly to keep her still. If she turns or thrashes about, the wounds might rip open again. She can only be Apparated when the bleeding has fully stopped. Dromeda called the local healer, Tiberius Tondrake, and Shacklebolt sent yet another one, very early this morning. But Snape insisted on being left out of the matter. We told Tondrake that it was Dromeda who did first aid and bandaged the wounds, and when the specialist from St. Mungo's arrived, it turned out that she was one of Tondrake's professors at the St. Mungo Healing Academy. Her former student nearly fainted with awe when he got complimented for his care... but he accepted the praise without objection." Harry gave a weak grin. "Both have promised to be silent about the whole matter."

Hermione shot him a curious glance. "Where did Prof... where did _Snape _hide while those two were busy admiring each other?"

"He Apparated home, to change his clothes," Harry retorted curtly, still feeling rather uncomfortable on the topic. "Neither of them ever saw him... I'm not quite sure how he convinced Dromeda to promise not to mention his presence to anyone. She has no idea who he is... as I said, he calls himself Stephen Seeker."

"Not too original," Ron muttered, grinning.

"It isn't, is it?" Harry said, and for a second his face mirrored the same, boyish mischief. "He didn't even bother to change the initials, did he?"

Hermione shook her head, slightly exasperated. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, _grow up_, you two. If no one who knows about this will talk about it, we should be relatively safe. And I'll be back at the Department next week; I can check the visitors log of the Werewolf Registry on a regular basis, at least as soon as Ruta is well enough to register there. And if I should happen to discover a certain bug in that office, Miss Skeeter will find herself buzzing about in a preservation glass before she even gets her Quickquotes Quill out."

Rons grin widened. "Bloody brilliant, love... she's afraid enough of you as it is." He hauled himself out of the chair. "I don't know about you both... but I'll try to find Dromeda and a cup of coffee. And perhaps some scrambled eggs..." He left the room and Harry saw that Hermione's gaze followed him with fond amusement.

"Some things never change, don't they?" He laughed under his breath, but Hermione's face had already turned serious again. She looked at him, with the scrutinizing, slightly unnerving stare that had always been so very much a part of her.

"What will you do about Snape?"

He hesitated. "I... honestly, I don't know yet," he finally said.

"I was just thinking..." she continued, cocking her head. "It's rather interesting, you know."

"What?"

"The things he did," Hermione said. "Yesterday... he didn't hesitate for a second to drop his cover. He ran to Ruta's rescue... he even flew through a Muggle village in plain sight - and all that to save a woman he has only known for a few months." Their eyes met, and a small smile curled her lips. "That's not the Severus Snape I know... he must have changed quite a bit. And they must be very good friends indeed."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "That's something I have great difficulty in believing," he said.

vvvvv

_She floated through a darkness whirling with fire and horror, helplessly trying to reach out for something to cling to… and then the maelstrom eased, and she found herself in the body of a small girl… _

…the sun was shining, she was wearing a brand new cloak and it was her very first visit to Diagon Alley. She was six years old, and her Uncle Reginald had finally agreed to take her with him to London. Remus would be there, too, and that was one of the main reasons why Ruta had ceaselessly assailed her mother until she finally gave her permission. She didn't know where to look first… too many wonders everywhere in the showcases, colorful robes, owls, cauldrons and brooms (and Remus, barely able to be dragged away from _Quality Quidditch Supplies_, constantly nagging at Uncle Reginald because now "all I want for Christmas is that _Cleansweep Six_, Dad, and I don't want _anything_ else!").

Uncle Reginald decided to pay for a round of ice cream at _Florean Fortescue's_, and Ruta enjoyed her strawberry and walnut sundae, daydreaming about a doll she had seen displayed in a very true-to-life parlor at _Theodora Tondrake's Tantalizing Toys_ – a marvel with long, golden curls and a noble robe, made of real silk. Remus had gallantly decided to forget that he was a boy and that dolls were the silliest thing on earth, and he read the plate at the doll's feet to her: _"Gloriana – the most splendid magical companion you can give to your little princess – changes color of hair and dress on a daily basis – capable of real conversation – price on application."_

"What does that mean – price on applicita… application?" she asked, still staring spellbound at the doll.

"That you need a lot of money," Remus precociously retorted. "More than your six sickles, little one."

Ruta – who only a second before had thought herself incredibly rich with two weeks of saved pocket money – felt her heart sink, and the dream of playing with that doll burst like a soap-bubble. No member of the Lupin family could rightly be called wealthy; Uncle Reginald was working in the Ministry of Magic (Ruta didn't know where exactly) and her own father, Rudolphus, sold herbal supplies for all kinds of potions and brews._Slug and Jiggers Apothecary_ was one of her father's biggest customers, and Corminius Slug one of his oldest friends. And though Rudolphus' profession certainly kept the family properly fed, a luxurious toy like Gloriana was far out of reach.

After finishing their ice cream, they headed for _Flourish & Blotts_; Ruta was not particularly interested in accompanying her uncle inside, and Remus promised to stay with her within earshot until his father had found the books he needed. They ambled along the shops, stopping here and there, until they reached a narrow, rather dimly lit side road.

"Knockturn Alley…" Remus slowly spelled the sign on the wall; he turned to Ruta, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Dad has mentioned this place," he said. "There is a shop where they sell all sorts of powerful, cursed things, and I've always wanted to have a look at it. Would you like to see it, too?"

Ruta hesitated. The crooked lane looked decidedly unpleasant, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to come close to any item that was powerful and cursed at the same time.

"Uncle told us not to go too far away from the book store," she said.

"We'll be right back, and I will look after you, little one," he earnestly said, taking her hand. "I promise."

That was what tipped the scales, of course. Remus was her hero, and she would have followed him to any place he suggested as long as he didn't leave her alone. And so she didn't object when he led her along the cobbled road towards the pale rectangle of another shop-window, twenty yards down Knockturn Alley.

It felt like walking into a long, dark tunnel; the merry chaos of merchants, restaurants and pedestrians seemed to draw back behind them until they were surrounded by a strange and silent half-light. The road was empty (though Ruta was sure that she saw something move in the shadows further down the alley), and when they reached the shop Remus was so eagerly heading for, it turned out to be a disappointment. There were only a handful of items displayed; a ring with a red gem on a cushion of dusty, black velvet, a small cauldron made of tarnished silver, and something that caused both children to gasp in unison (Ruta with fear, Remus with thrilled delight): a human skull, the empty eye sockets decorated with golden ornaments and two huge, green jewels.

"I want to go back, Remus," Ruta said emphatically, overcome by a sudden panic at the thought that her cousin might actually dare to enter that frightening place. "I don't like it here, I don't like this lane, I don't like this shop, I don't... And Uncle Reginald will be mad at us!" She pulled at Remus' sleeve; the boy's nose was literally pressed against the dull glass of the store window. "Remus? I want to go back! _Please?"_

He finally managed to break away, sobered by her pleading tone.

"Okay, then", he said, his gaze fixed on her anxious little face. "We are going back, right now."

The very next moment a tall figure stepped out of the shadows right beside the entrance to the store.

"Such a nice, little poppet," a low, raspy voice said. "No… actually a pair of poppets. A pair of poppets, lost in Knockturn Alley… such a terrible _shame." _

Ruta looked up and saw a face looming above her… eyes of a yellowish brown under thick brows, scrubby whiskers framing badly shaved cheeks, with a long nose and a broad, red-lipped mouth. The man's dirty blonde hair was as unkempt as his face, and he was surrounded by a stale smell that strongly reminded Ruta of the damp cellar in her grandmother's house… of invisible things, kept far too long and rotting in dark corners.

Involuntarily she shied back and her fingers found Remus' hand, closing around it in a hard grip that made him flinch, too.

"We're not lost," Remus said, his voice surprisingly firm and reassuring. "My father is waiting for us on Diagon Alley, just around the corner. We'll leave now… sir."

"Oh, but you shouldn't have to walk alone," the man said, his face split by a grin that made Ruta's heartbeat flutter in her throat. He had yellow teeth, and when he raised his hand, absently scratching his cheek, she noticed his fingernails… they were yellow, too, and frighteningly long, like claws. "I'll accompany you to… your father."

Ruta saw his eyes; all traces of brown had vanished, leaving feverish excitement and a bright blaze that almost made them glow in the dimness of the street. And suddenly she was dead sure that this man (this evil… _thing_) wouldn't accompany them back to Uncle Reginald. No, he would drag them away to some hiding place where no one would ever find them again… _where no one would hear them screaming._

She closed her mouth against the helpless whimper threatening to escape, and then she heard a loud, alarmed voice from the direction of Diagon Alley.

"Remus? Ruta?"

"Dad, we're down here!" Remus' voice was shaking so violently that she barely recognized it. The man's head jerked up while fast steps approached, and he made a noise deep in his throat, like the snarl of a big, malicious dog. He took a hasty step back, and then Uncle Reginald was there, wand drawn, pointing directly at the man's chest.

_"Greyback!"_ His voice was sharp and icy. "Away from my children! Back, I say, or I'll prove to you that the Ministry is perfectly willing to accept the Unforgivables as long as they are used against a monster!"

Remus pulled her after him until they both stood behind the safe cover of Uncle Reginald's voluminous cloak. Ruta closed her eyes; her knees were trembling and she couldn't see the man anymore… the man her uncle had called "Greyback". But she could hear his voice, oily and filled with a cattish servility:

"_Your_ children? Such a sweet little girl, and such a handsome little boy! How proud you must be, Lupin… and how careful you _should_ be!" A strange sound, something between a bark and a low chuckle. "There are monsters out there indeed… though I was found not guilty, if you remember."

"For want of evidence!" her uncle spat, his tone angry and heavy with disgust. "You may have skillfully covered your tracks, but I know that you were there, and that you caused the death of those poor twins. Had the Wizengamot and the Werewolf Capture Unit followed my judgment, you would have been rotting in Azkaban for months now."

"You like to see yourself as defender of the weak, do you?" Greyback growled, and Ruta felt her uncle's back grow rigid. "Against all unnatural creatures, especially every single werewolf, I presume? How incredibly _brave!"_

"I have nothing against those who are properly listed in the Werewolf Registry, trying to live a normal life as best as they can," Reginald Lupin retorted coldly. "It is your kind that I despise… those who take to the taste of living flesh, who feast on the pain and sorrow of others, and intoxicate yourselves with the smell of blood and the fear of children. I'll keep an eye on you, and one day I'll be able to prove to the Wizard World that you're nothing but some mangy cur, sick and dangerous enough to be drowned in the next best pond."

A sound of bestial rage came from the invisible man, and her uncle raised his wand once more.

"BACK!" he yelled, "Back, or you'll find yourself stunned and arrested for attacking an employee of the Ministry and two children." He laughed mirthlessly. "Give me a reason, _hound."_

"I will," Greyback snarled, "and the time may come when you curse the day you dared to threaten me, Reginald Lupin."

Fast steps moved away, and for the fraction of a second Ruta saw the shoulders of her uncle slacken before he whirled around and squarely faced his son, a thunderstorm in his eyes.

"Remus Lupin! What for heaven's sake have you been _thinking?" _

"I'm… I'm sorry, Dad," the boy murmured, hanging his head. Ruta saw that his lips were trembling, and she promptly burst into tears; she had always been a little afraid of her stern, proud uncle, but never before in her life she had been so glad that he was there. Reginald gave a deep, resigned sigh and pulled both children into a crushing embrace.

"Come," he said in a brusque tone which scarcely veiled his concern and relief. "I'll take you back to Diagon Alley. Time to go home." …

_…she looked down at the small group of people hugging each other, and then she felt herself floating on the peak of a huge wave while darkness enfolded her once more. Gone was the little girl, lost forever the tall wizard and the brazen boy, and there was a surface, a surface of knowledge, of awareness…_

_… and of pain. _

vvvvv

The entire right half of her body was throbbing with a dull ache. She tried to lift her hand from something soft and yielding, but that only made the ache manifold to screeching agony.

Her eyes flew open.

She stared at a ceiling, brightened by the unruly golden light of many candles. The room was vaguely familiar, warm and very silent. Why was she lying here… and what had happened to her shoulder and her arm? Her thoughts were as dull as the pain that had awakened her, and trying to concentrate was a difficult, confusing task.

The door opened, and she heard a voice she knew, speaking with impatient authority:

"She has had enough sleeping draughts for now. It is time she was allowed to learn what has happened. You cannot think that she would prefer to suddenly find herself at St. Mungo's with the well-being of the boy she tried to protect unbeknownst to her."

A short silence, and she could hear a hesitating murmur before the first voice continued, the tone softened and hoarse with weariness.

"Of course I will. And one more thing, Mr Potter, once again: You and your friends should concentrate your efforts on discovering how Greyback came to be here."

_Greyback. _

Ruta gasped and moved her hale hand, fumbling toward her shoulder for the source of the raging pain. The memory of that oily, cruel voice flooded her veins with ice water.

_"The last time we met you were much younger, my little poppet, and I found you much more…_ tempting."

She bolted upright in the bed. Her head was spinning and her stomach was trying to escape through her cramped throat. She managed a strangled whimper, and the man at the door spun around with a swirl of dark robes and hurried over to the bed.

"For goodness sake - lie_ down_, woman," he snapped, and his hands were far more gentle than his voice as he cautiously maneuvered her back into the pillows. "I had great difficulties in closing the most severe of your wounds, and any sudden movement might rip them open again."

She stared at him, shaking with stunned horror as another memory hit her like a blow. _Her nephew, running and screaming, and then the small, helpless figure on the sidewalk, unable to escape with a twisted leg_. "Is… is Teddy safe?"

"Yes," Seeker replied. "The boy was unharmed, aside from the shock and a bloody knee. He had a good night, and this morning Mrs. Tonks Apparated him to the Burrow. She thought he might need a certain change of scene. He was here for a moment, and very happy to see you alive."

"Oh…" It was a sigh of naked relief. "Thank you, Stephen."

Her gaze found a jug on the nightstand; suddenly she noticed how dry her mouth was. "Could I...?" He helped her to sit up, filled a glass and supported her hand when she held it against her lips. She swallowed, the cool water a blessing in her sore throat, and then yet another realization overran her like a giant avalanche. Her stomach tightened to a hard knot.

"He bit me," she flatly stated. "Greyback… he tried to get Teddy… and he bit me."

The black eyes in front of her flickered, and for a short, staggering moment they were completely empty. But he didn't turn his gaze away.

"Yes," he finally said, his voice even. "Yes, he bit you."

"And he was fully changed, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Ruta. He was fully changed."

She turned her head to the window and stared blindly at the closed curtains. His grim honesty was a blessing, but her thankfulness drowned in the memories reeling in her mind, flickering images from the past:

_Remus as a boy, not even two months after that fateful encounter in Knockturn Alley, a shockingly small form in the big bed at St. Mungo's. The pale, desperate face of Uncle Reginald, his proud, tall figure hunched in a chair and with trembling shoulders, nothing more than a short glimpse before her aunt discovered her and quickly shooed her away._

_Remus leaving for Hogwarts, a lonely child, shy and bereft of his former, gentle self-confidence._

_She had stood beside uncle and aunt, waving goodbye to him, and getting a small wave back._

_He came home from school for Christmas, happy and surrounded by his new friends, but still breaking into a joyful smile when he saw her waiting._

_Then the fateful year 1981. The night after James' and Lily's death, with the entire wizarding world in a disbelieving uproar of joy, and Remus again, standing on her threshold, his face ashen. "I have lost them, Ruta, I have lost them, _all_ of them..." The taste of wine on her tongue, a taste of earth and desire, Remus' sight blurred by a haze of too much alcohol, grief and desperate determination… and she… and she had…_

And now her stomach gave up and revolted in earnest. One hand clamped over her mouth, she doubled over and the pain returned, awakening to full, howling force… but at that very moment she couldn't have cared less. He reacted with astonishing swiftness, leaning down and producing a bowl from the floor. One arm slid around her shoulder and one hand held the bowl under her chin while she retched, her body shaking from head to toe. Fate was mocking her, with an insane, shrieking laughter, echoing in her head. _She had always thought that the price for her hopeless misdeed had been fully paid on the day when she had irrevocably lost Remus to death. But she had been wrong… horribly wrong._

It took minutes until it was over, and then she found herself hanging limply in his steadying grip, a deep ache in her chest as she gasped for air.

Only slowly did she become aware of a warm, damp cloth; his arm eased her down onto the pillows again and his hand gently smoothed the tousled strands out of her face.

She didn't know what to say, how to apologize. She had no idea how to give words to the turmoil of terror and bottomless fear whirling in her mind. She didn't even want to_think._

"Remember how I told you that Winky gave me the Draught of the Living Death?" he calmly said. "When the potion wore off I was still in that far-too-noble tomb. I lay waiting for Winky to come and find me, buried alive, but for some reason I was not afraid. It was strangely... peaceful."

Ruta swallowed, tears stinging behind her closed lids. She didn't dare to speak.

"The fear came after that… months later, when I had already left England and was traveling through Morocco. I slept in an ancient caravanserai near Rabat, and suddenly I found myself lying in that sarcophagus again… and this time the lid couldn't be removed, and I knew Winky wouldn't come… and I felt Nagini's venom running through my veins, slowly paralyzing every single limb."

She turned back to him and met his eyes. Now they weren't empty anymore… they were filled with saturnine experience and the memory of old pain… the better part of a man's life, spent in disguise and constant danger. Suddenly she realized that he had only told her about this mysterious part of his life one day before, and for the very first time.

"I woke up screaming, heartbeat in my throat, and I found Winky hastily casting a _Muffliato_ Charm, to keep the Arabian Muggles from storming my chamber because they thought someone was being murdered in there."

She cleared her throat. "Why… why are you…?"

"You want to know why I would give you such a shocking insight into my personal feebleness?" Astonishingly enough there was no sarcasm in his voice… only a quiet dispassion. "It's very simple. I want you to know that fear and panic is only natural, given the circumstances… even if it comes late, as it did in my case. Courage always has a price, sooner or later." He sighed. "That dream in Rabat was only the first one in a long row of nightmares… but looking your personal horror right in the face is the only way to master it."

Despite the increasing pain in her wounds and the dull ache of her still queasy stomach she felt her mouth twitch. "Are you trying to prepare me for the fact that I should better keep a basin handy beside my bed for the next few years?"

"Your sense of the bare necessities of life is admirable," he answered with the shadow of a grin, but then he noticed her growing unease. He leaned over and she felt his hand around her wrist, checking the pulse. "Anyhow… I should spare you any further details, at least for this evening. What you need now is rest, and worry will not make your recovery easier."

Ruta carefully tried to readjust her position on the pillow and winced. "Merlin, that hurts _terribly."_

"Of course it does. Those are deep injuries, and we'll have to wait two or three more days until we can dare to Apparate you to St. Mungo's without risking even more blood loss. I'll remove this." He produced his wand from somewhere beneath the dark vest he was wearing and made the content of the bowl disappear. Then he rose from the chair and walked towards the door. "And I will bring you something that should help you sleep." He gave a half-smile. "I would also use my wand to ease the pain, but most spells don't work in this special case."

"I know." Suddenly Ruta felt the tears well up again, and she fought them with all her might. "This all just seems to become a kind of familiar … a family tradition. Funny, isn't it?"

"Not for me." Seeker looked at her, the expression of his face unreadable. "And not for you." He hesitated, then visibly came to a decision. "I know what you did yesterday evening, Ruta. To save the boy, you practically threw yourself to the wolves – or to the _wolf_, in this case."

She stared at him, her eyes widening in surprise. "You were there?"

"Yes, I was… and fortunately Mr. Potter was there, too, together with Mr. Longbottom. If anyone had told me ten years ago that I would one day fight against a beast alongside either one of those overzealous Gryffindors, I would have seriously recommended his immediate admittance into the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's."

"How did you…"

He raised one hand. "No, Ruta… not this evening. There are a few things you'd better hear about after a good night of rest and a proper breakfast. I'll be right back." His gaze softened. "Oh – Greyback is dead, of course. Destroyed utterly."

"That's… that's good," she whispered. "Thank you, Stephen."

He kept his promise and returned with a potion; Ruta remembered the lingering taste of it from her nightmares. She emptied the mug without objection, clinging to the sight of his face until she felt the world around her blur and fade into a peaceful, dark silence.

vvvvv

The next time she opened her eyes, the room was sunny and bright. Instinctively she turned her head to the chair beside the bed, and a man was sitting in it, obviously sound asleep. But it was not Stephen Seeker. It was Harry Potter.

She cleared her throat.

"Harry…?"

He winced and sat up, his gaze focusing on her with a visible effort.

"Oh... you're awake!" He wiped his brow. "I'm really sorry; I didn't mean to fall asleep here, but the last two days have been a bit exhausting."

She tried to penetrate the numb fog in her mind; the sudden daylight was nearly overwhelming, and she seemed to have lost track of the passing time._"Two _days?"

"Greyback's attack took place on Saturday," he explained. "That night your... your neighbor took care of you here, along with Dromeda and Tiberius Tondrake from Berwick, while I informed Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he sent another healer, a specialist, directly from St. Mungo's. Yesterday morning, Sunday, Ron and Hermione arrived."

Ruta blinked. "Ron and Hermione?"

He blushed. "They're both good at keeping secrets, and Neville's busy keeping an eye on the Muggles who've got Greyback's bones. We can't let Rita Skeeter get her hands on this - and not just because she'd cannibalize the truth until it is unrecognizeable." He hesitated. "We'll have to wait until tomorrow - or the day after tomorrow - to get you to St. Mungo's. Your neighbor kept you drugged the whole day yesterday because he was afraid that the wounds might start bleeding again."

She met his eye, suddenly on her guard. "Where is he now?"

"Went home before I took over this morning," Harry said. "He looked terribly tired – no wonder, after spending thirty hours or more beside your bed." A quick glance from the corner of his eye. "He only left this room when it was absolutely necessary. A very good friend, is he?"

"It seems so." Despite her first-hand experience with Stephen's quiet and gentle aid from the evening before she still felt a vague astonishment. "I know that he dressed the wounds."

"Dromeda is deeply impressed with his skills." A short pause. "But he told me that he won't accompany you to London; I hope you're not too disappointed."

"No, of course not," Ruta cautiously answered. "I wouldn't want him to leave his refuge longer than it's absolutely necessary, not even on my behalf. He has already done more than I could ever expect from him."

Harry nodded, and his gaze flitted to the thick bulge of bandages under her nightgown. "The healers at St. Mungo's are prepared to take over anyway, and you will be in good hands there. And Ruta -" Again he broke off. "You should know that you don't have to worry about the cost of your treatment. Everything is fully covered."

"Oh. Thank you." She hadn't even begun to think about this particular aspect of her personal disaster… and at that very moment she was immensely grateful that there would be no need to do so.

"As soon as you feel better, there are certain… erh… things you'll have to consider," he continued. "If your infection is confirmed…"

"I know what you want to say." Her heart felt heavy as a stone within her chest. "I will have to register as a werewolf. Don't worry… I'm familiar with the official procedure."

For a long while neither of them spoke. She could _scent_ his disquiet and compassion like some kind of mist in the warm, still air of the room… with a sense far beyond the natural ability to see, to hear or to smell. It was a completely new, disturbingly feral knowledge... and suddenly she understood that from now on she would sense the changing phases of the moon the same way.

"I still have some questions," Harry finally said. "About Stephen Seeker."

Ruta looked at him; her heart sank. She should have known better from the start; it had been a fool's hope that the boy – the man – who had determinedly unveiled the Dark Lord's cabals would not doggedly try to find out the truth about the unusual friend she had been trying to protect against discovery.

"Could I get a sip of water? My mouth is terribly dry."

"Oh... of course." Harry reached for the full glass on the nightstand. Like Stephen had done the evening before, he helped her to sit up and carefully held the glass against her lips while she drank. She could feel the great tension in the arm supporting her, and feebly tried to steel herself against a bombardment of probing questions.

"How much do you know about him?"

She gave an exhausted sigh. "You've asked me that once before, remember? And I shall tell you now exactly what I told you then – he's a good and trustworthy man."

Harry eased her back into the pillows and got up again. He was pale - a result of the lack of sleep on his part - but the shadows those last few days had left under his eyes had nothing to do with the nervous turmoil she could clearly sense beneath the surface of that young, familiar face.

"I know," he finally said. "I can't deny that he was definitely helpful... during that fight against Greyback and all the time afterwards. And I can tell that he really seems to care for you." A long pause; then he turned back to her and they looked at each other. _Lily's eyes_, Ruta thought, _he really has inherited Lily's eyes_. She had met his mother only on a few occasions, after her marriage to Remus' friend James, but those encounters were deeply engraved into her memory. The beautiful young woman had always managed to thaw Ruta's frozen shield of shyness and caution... in her presence she had felt cherished and wondrously released from her usual solitude. Now she saw the same friendliness and compassion mirrored in the eyes of Lily's son.

"How much do you really know about him?" Harry suddenly asked. "Have you... have you any idea who he really is?"

To her surprise Ruta felt cool and calm… and strangely relieved. _Time for the truth, then…which was a blessing after all._

"He is a hero," she softly replied. "At least that is what you publicly proclaimed in the_ Daily Prophet_, eight years ago."

Harry stared at her, his eyes very dark. Then he sat down in the chair again.

"You _knew."_ It was no question. "How long…"

"Since the day when Teddy stole the medal from his house." Ruta gently replied. "It was his Order of the Merlin. He had put a deceiving hex on it, but I was able to remove it with a_ Finite Incantatem." _

His gaze was thoughtful. "So you didn't trust him?"

"Oh, I did," she gave back. "I trusted him before I knew about his true identity, and that hasn't changed an iota. But I must admit that I was painfully curious… and I'm still ashamed of it, to tell the truth."

"Why?"

_Of course he would ask that. Harry had never been able to leave a mystery alone for long. _

"Because I had no right to dig up his secrets," she said. "He was always very guarded, and it took some time until I had the impression that he actually enjoyed our encounters."

"Encounters?"

"Conversations over the garden wall, in the beginning. A cup of coffee or two, a week of chess lessons… a shared meal. You know, he was incredibly cautious at first. "She smiled weakly. "Somehow I must have managed to get through his defenses, in a way. But it was worth the effort - I have been rewarded with a rare friendship."

Without thinking, she reached out for his hand, and he didn't pull it away. She didn't know if this was a good sign; she could only hope the best, for the sake of _both_ men.

"Look, Harry," she said, "I know your experiences with this man were a nightmare. I know he hated you for years, and that you returned his antipathy with enthusiasm. But… he has abandoned his former identity. Most of the last eight years he has spent abroad, trying to find a purpose for the second life he was given unexpectedly."

"Why didn't he stay away?" The expression in his eyes was an odd mixture of unease and reluctant curiosity... and in this moment she could easily discern the face of a much younger, angry boy behind the features of the grown-up man.

"Because of _you,"_ Ruta answered. "He wanted to see if you were safe. He… he wanted to be sure that you have the life you deserve."

"He didn't need to come here to find out about me!" he slowly said. "The newspapers announced my appointment as an Auror at the ministry, my marriage and the birth of my first son. And wherever he was, Winky could certainly have provided him with the _Daily Prophet."_

"Harry, please." She felt a stab of hot impatience. "The day I went to him to bring back the order, he told me that you put him to shame by – how did he put it – by 'transforming him into a pillar saint'. He knows only too well how terribly he mistreated you." She swallowed. "I told him he was wrong. I told him that the retrieval of his honor was an act of honesty… because of your unerring sense for justice."

She let go of his hand.

"Don't prove me wrong," she said, her tone weary. "Talk to him, try to sort this out with him. Perhaps you'll never be friends… but he at least deserves a fair hearing. And now…"

She settled deeper into the pillows, grimacing as a fresh surge of pain ran down from her thickly bandaged right shoulder to the wrist.

"… now I'd like you to leave. I am sure you have had a difficult time, and I'm incredibly thankful for everything you have done - all of you - but I was bitten by a werewolf, I have no idea if my arm will ever really heal again, and the thought that I'll spend every full moon for the rest of my life as a beast of prey makes me sick. I would really like to be alone for a while."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "If you need anything…"

"If I need anything, I'll call Andromeda," she replied. "Go home – you need some rest, too. And give Ginny my love, will you?"

He nodded and left the room, silently closing the door.

She stared up at the ceiling. She thought of Stephen who hopefully was making up for the lost sleep. She thought of Andromeda and the terrible shock the whole situation must have been for her. She saw Greyback's grinning face in front of her inner eye; she imagined herself walking into the office of the Werewolf Registry, and the inquiring gaze of the magistrate when she mentioned her name. _"Yet another Lupin…?" _

The house was very silent, and the room with its warm, feminine colors seemed to clasp around her like a shielding hand. For the first time she felt herself relax, and only now, completely alone and unobserved, did she finally dare to give in to the fragile comfort of tears.

* * *

_"Hermione had attained a high position in the Ministry of Magic through the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She then went on to attain a high position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."_

(Source: **Harry Potter Wiki**: Later years of Hermione Granger)

_  
Janus-Thickey-Ward_ - located on the 4th floor of the hospital St. Mungo's, a department for mentally ill patients. Famous inhabitants are Alice and Frank Longbottom and Gilderoy Lockhart.


	11. A Bitter Homecoming

Chapter 10  
**A Bitter Homecoming**

A cold October rain filled the potholes in the uneven asphalt of Charing Cross Road; the few passers-by on this unpleasant afternoon hurried along under protective umbrellas, their feet splashing through the puddles. Few of them had the eyes to see the pub that lay between a bookstore and a used record shop, and even for those who knew its fame its exterior remained a singularly uninspiring sight.

The taproom, however, had undergone a few distinct and quite obvious changes; shabby benches and tables had been replaced, and now the flames in a new, huge fireplace were reflected from shimmering, dark wood and a freshly tiled floor. The walls were newly whitewashed and decorated with copper pots, polished brass cauldrons and a few, well-chosen paintings. Above the mantelpiece hung the portrait of a blonde woman with anxious, harebell-blue eyes in a gentle, round face.

Hannah Abbott stood behind the bar, drying a beer mug with a spotless towel. Her gaze swept across the room with the honest, warm pride of a mother surveying her well-behaved offspring… Tom, the famous landlord of the _Leaky Cauldron_, had retired almost two years ago, and ever since she had done her best to preserve as much of the old atmosphere as possible while at the same time changing what in her opinion absolutely had to be improved. The effort had paid off. Her Yorkshire Puddings, her pork roast, and her lamb with rosemary were nearly as famous as the dark smooth ale in her casks, and her cellar even housed a few varieties of very acceptable wine.

She was startled out of her satisfied reverie when the door to the backyard opened and let in a short shower of rain and two people. One was a tall woman with hazelnut brown hair, pinned up in a loose knot; her plain face was pale and tired, and she wore her right arm in a sling. The other one...

_"Neville!"_ Hannah abandoned mug and towel and waved until she had the young man's attention. Then she hurried over to him and ushered him and his unknown friend to one of the most comfortable tables near the fireplace. She produced a small notepad from the pocket of her green apron.

"Would you like to have a pint of ale?" She turned to Neville who smiled at her, blushing ever-so-slightly. "We also have Shepherd's Pie on the menu today."

"Yes, Hannah, thank you," he replied. "I'd like to have both."

"And you, ma'am?" Hannah addressed Neville's companion; the woman's gaze was fixed on the fireplace, and the red and golden light of the flames gave her skin some color, softening the sharp outlines. At the sound of the landlady's voice she slowly turned her head.

Hannah's first thought was that she'd never seen someone that incredibly _sad…_ though that sadness was nothing overt; it didn't show in the angular features, not even in the tart expression of the full mouth, but it radiated from her like a thin mist. Perhaps she was in pain; Hannah's gaze rested on the sling, and when she looked up to the woman's face again, the mournfulness was so clearly visible in the slate blue eyes that she gave a short gasp of dismay.

She pulled herself together.

"May I bring you a glass of wine? Or pumpkin juice, perhaps?" Her voice was soft and hesitant, as if speaking to some extremely shy animal.

The woman took a deep breath, her mind returning from wherever it had been, and smiled.

"A glass of white wine would be lovely, thank you," she said. Her voice was a strong contrast to her simple, unobtrusive appearance; it was warm and deep, a lovely, rich alto. "And when I came to London on a more regular basis – about twenty years ago - Tom served a special kind of Cornish Pasty. Is it still served here?"

"Of course," Hannah assured her, suppressing the sudden, peculiar urge to pat the hand of this mysterious guest. "I have a tray of pasties in the oven; they'll be ready any moment."

_How absurd,_ she thought, _she must be nearly old enough to be Neville's mother._ Her gaze was involuntarily drawn to the portrait above the fireplace. The stranger was nearly old enough to be her mother, too - but that was something Hannah steadfastly refused to think about. Hazel Abbott had been killed by Death Eaters in the Autumn of 1996, which had meant the sudden end of Hannah's school career. She had mourned her, trying to fill the sudden void in her father's life... not only by giving him all the love and comfort she could muster, but also by taking over the kitchen of _The Fattened Goose_, the small inn the Abbot family had kept in Godric's Hollow since the time of Hannah's great-great-grandmother. She was secretly relieved that her personal drama had kept her from enduring that awful last year at Hogwarts, but at the same time she had bitterly missed being a part of Dumbledore's Army. She'd constantly kept Hermione Granger's magical galleon in her pocket, like some secret talisman.

And then had come the night she'd felt the coin burning against her palm like a piece of smouldering coal, her call to the battle raging at Hogwarts. She'd felt so out of practice compared to the others, had scarcely survived, reduced to scrambling after the wounded and bringing them to safety. It was the night she'd seen Neville Longbottom for who he'd truly always been... not a shy, inept boy with a talent for attracting every disaster within reach, but a _hero_. Neville had challenged the Dark Lord and destroyed the horrible serpent that had served that evil's whim.

And after the battle, while he sat in the banquet hall enjoying the acclamation of the folk who were giddy with the stupefying victory and not too busy mourning their losses, she had made her way to the kitchens, thinking that it wasn't right for Neville to look as if he'd missed too many meals. The house-elves had needed the help. Many of them were injured, and those that weren't were busy setting things to rights. Safe in the familiar sanctuary of the hearth, she'd found herself conducting a symphony of carrots, potatoes, cream and bacon, adding the spices that her mother had taught her long ago and stirring the enormous pots and pans. She'd been the one to bring Neville hot soup and fresh bread, and his grateful smile had felt utterly _right_, made her ridiculously happy. The others had been glad of her offering too, and despite everything that had been lost she had come away from battle and victory with a new passion for the healing good food and comfort could bring.

Suddenly Neville's hand was on her arm, and with a start she returned to the present.

"I would like to introduce my friend Ruta to you," he gently said, a smile in his eyes. "Ruta – this is Hannah Abbott."

_So this was the Ruta Neville sometimes talked about._ She was rather glad that Ruta had turned out to be clearly older than Neville and herself – and not too attractive - for his enthusiastic tales about her skills in Herbology, her kindness and her humor had made Hannah more than a little nervous at times.

The woman reached out with her left hand and shot a side glance at Neville; Hannah saw her lips twitch as if something dawned on her. "How do you do?" Involuntarily her own gaze trailed down to the sling; Ruta's right hand lay limp and motionless on the table. Whatever injury had near-paralyzed that arm it was hidden with the sleeve of the burgundy dress.

"A bad accident," Ruta said calmly, but the sadness in her eyes deepened.

"Then let us hope that everything will heal soon," Hannah said with honest warmth and set out for the kitchen. The pasties were waiting in the warming oven; she put two of them on a plate with extra salad, opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and fetched a fresh bowl and plate for Neville's shepherd's pie.

She brought the pasties and the pie to her two guests and then stepped behind the bar, to fill a mug with fresh ale. All the time her gaze was fixed on the couple near the fireplace, and her last misgivings faded; it was a deep friendship that she saw, no love affair. They talked to each other; or rather it was Neville who did the talking, gesturing with both hands while Ruta listened, her face barred and filled with laboriously restrained patience. At least she had finished one of the pasties and the first half of the second, and she drank the wine; Hannah hated good food to be wasted. That was one of the many things she cherished about Neville Longbottom; he loved her cooking, and his pie had already vanished while Ruta was still shoving the rest of the second pasty around on her plate. Hannah brought him the ale and he did it as much honor as the food, and when he asked for the bill half an hour later, she shook her head and smiled dismissively.

"Will you be staying in London today?" she asked. "I've got lamb chops planned for dinner, and you might want to give my new Merlot a try."

"No," he replied, taking Ruta's cloak from the coatrack and carefully laying it over her shoulders. He gave the fireplace a short, dismissive glance. "I'm taking Ruta up to Berwick. She's not up to the Floo Network just yet, and Apparating..."

"I'm a bit clumsy with my wand right now," Ruta interrupted, her voice tired and clear. "The Healers at St. Mungo's have shown me several exercises to train the damaged muscles in my wand arm, but they told me to be patient, and until then I will have to use my left hand… which is more difficult than I hoped first."

"Oh." Hannah stared at her, dismayed to discover so long after the war that there were still injuries which the best mediwizards couldn't mend properly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I will get used to it," Ruta said with a small grimace. "And of course you will see Neville again this evening; all he has to do is to drop me in front of Harry Potter's door, to attend the 'Welcome back'-party that has doubtlessly been prepared for days now."

Neville shot her a slightly annoyed glance. "Don't be so sarcastic. They care for you, Ruta, and they're really looking forward to seeing you again."

"Of course, they do, my dear," she retorted. "But I'm sure Miss Abbott here will look forward to seeing _you_ again, too. Help me to get home and then come back to London; you've only got one more evening free to spend in the company of this lovely young lady before you return to Hogwarts."

She looked at Hannah; for a fleeting second the sadness and exhaustion vanished from her face and she looked carefree, much younger… and almost _pretty._

"Good bye, Hannah," she said with a slightly mischievous smile. "You'll have him back very soon. Oh – and if you wait for him to take the first step, you might have to wait for quite a while."

Neville turned scarlet, and when Ruta opened the door with her good hand, he hastily followed her outside, casting a gaze back over his shoulder that was a wild mixture of embarrassment - and nervous hope.

vvvvv

"Are you really sure that you don't need me for the rest of this evening?"

They stood on the street in Berwick, right in front of Harry Potter's garden gate. The sky over the Eskdale was clear, the remaining light of day rapidly fading. Ruta looked up to the stars and inhaled the cold fresh air that always seemed to carry a hint of salt. The Irish Sea was barely eight miles away, and after the moldy smell of her sickroom at St. Mungo's and the unpleasant, overwhelming big-city aroma of London, every deep breath she could take here was a sheer relief.

"I am sure, Neville," she gently said. "I don't need a guardian; I will be among friends."

"I know." He stared down at his feet. "It's just… I want to be sure that you are well."

"You can't," she retorted soberly. "None of us can. I'll try to carry on as well as possible, and if I should ever need a shoulder to cry on, I will send you an owl."

"Promised?" He gave her a smile, and again it struck her that he had obviously no idea of his personal charm. _Ah well… Hannah Abbott certainly did._

"I promise." He stepped close and hugged her, carefully not to touch the still overly sensitive arm. For one bittersweet moment she gave in to the unexpected comfort of his embrace, then she stepped back.

"Promise me something else," he slowly said, his hand still on her shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Normally werewolves can only try to find a safe place for themselves and everybody else when the moon is full, and then wait for the change to come and go," he said, his tone nervous but firm. "Your situation is different; you have a choice."

"What do you mean?" She stared at him.

"Oh, come on, Ruta." For the first time his tone was decidedly impatient. "You've befriended one of the most famous potion masters in England – the man that once brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for your cousin – and now you're trying to tell me that you have no idea what I'm talking about?"

Ruta paled.

"How do you…"

"Are you _kidding?_ I knew who he was before Harry even told me! And how many other wizards have you ever heard of who can fly?"

"Fly?" Ruta stared at Neville. "He can fly?"

"Yes. He did it when he jumped out the window at Hogwarts, to get away from McGonagall and the others - only that time he was running away, and I suppose he just didn't want to have to kill them, but the night you were fighting Greyback he flew too, and this time he was coming _to_ the battle."

"I don't remember anyone flying," Ruta said weakly.

"Well, you'd already been knocked down by then, and Harry and I couldn't do anything because poor Teddy was in the way and we weren't close enough anyway, and then down came Snape out of the night. For a minute there I thought we'd have two of them to fight, but he took on Greyback instead of us and as soon as we could tell that his _Sectumsempra_ Spell was working, we joined in, and that did for Greyback. But yes, he flew. I wish I knew how he does that."

"You knew who he was because he flew?"

"No, I didn't think of that till later. Just like I didn't realize what he'd been doing all that last year at Hogwarts until it was too late to thank him for it. I mean, we got banged up, but none of us actually died or anything and you know that if he'd had the Carrows using _Cruciatuses_ on us instead of each other, it would have been a lot worse, because none of us really meant it except for Crabbe and Goyle and they weren't much at magic anyway. And I did thank him when I talked to him at Dromeda's."

"But you knew who he was before then," Ruta said, a line of confusion between her eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah. I knew straight away when he started ordering me and Harry about." At Ruta's doubtful expression Neville shrugged. "I mean, his voice had changed and all, but his way of speaking hadn't. And his hands were the same – I couldn't be mistaken. It was like an old nightmare come back to life."

"Surely not, if he'd come to help."

He suddenly looked much younger, blushing and staring at his feet. "Didn't Remus ever tell you? He brought in a boggart for us to practice on and when it was my turn it looked just like Snape. I was _terrified_ of him when I was in school, right from the first Potions class. I could never do anything right around him. I still don't know why he trusted me to take care of the Muggles."

_This was like trying to get a straight story out of Teddy,_ Ruta decided. "Which Muggles?" she asked patiently.

"The constable – and the neighbors who'd seen the fight." Suddenly Neville grinned, the boy inside the man shining through. "I charmed the bullets right out of his gun and then used _Obliviate_ on him. And luckily only three other people had seen what had really happened, which made things easier. Snape had said to transfigure Greyback's body into something the Muggles could recognize, and then scorch it like it had been hit with the same lightning that set the tree afire, and I did that, but it was my idea to make Bernie Smithers into a hero. People need heroes, even if Harry says it's a royal pain to be one all the time. And it's a nice feeling, knowing that you've done something brave. And he would have – Smithers, I mean – except that it wouldn't have done any good, so I thought he ought to get the benefit of wanting to do the right thing."

"Hmmm..." Ruta frowned, trying to mentally work her way through the complicated maze of Neville's last sentence. "He wanted to be the hero of the day, and you gave him the chance to be just that... even though it never truly happened?"

_"Exactly!"_ He beamed at her like a teacher pleased by a clever student. "And do you know what? Later, after I finally got to Andromeda's house, I gave Snape a report of what I had done, and we talked it through, and this time he wasn't pretending to be anyone but himself, and you know, I almost _liked_ him." He shook his head. "He even _thanked _me for my assistance - can you imagine that? I was completely dumbstruck."

He blinked up at the sky and pulled his cloak closer around him, then looked at her again.

"I'm telling you all of this because he obviously cares about you, Ruta. One day I would love to hear the story how you first met him, I really would… but for now you ought not forget that he's one of the very few people who are able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion at all, and I'll bet my annual salary that if you want his help, all you have to do is to _ask."_

"I… well, I promise that I will keep it in mind," she said slowly.

"Good. And now you should go inside – they are waiting for you, and it's getting awfully cold." Suddenly he gave her a bright smile. "I can't wait to be at the _Leaky Cauldron_ again. And one day I'll collect all my courage and make that first step, believe it or not. Good night, Ruta."

"Good night, Neville."

He turned around, raised his wand and with a soft _Pop _vanished into thin air.

vvvvv

There was a kind of "Welcome Home" party indeed, but as it turned out that, besides Harry and Ginny, the only guests were Andromeda and Teddy, for a brief moment Ruta was able to allow herself to be wrapped in embraces like warmed towels and enjoy the feeling of being home again. But after she had observed James in his cot and made all the right comments about how much he'd grown, they sat down to dinner and she felt her inner tension return. Neville had been wrong to accuse her of sarcasm earlier. It was _fear_ - desperate fear.

She did her best to keep her eyes on her plate, lest she discovered that she was being watched too closely, terrified that if she looked up to meet their eyes they would turn away. Only Teddy seemed unselfconscious, and with him she could nearly relax, for he'd gone to a Quidditch game with Ginny while she was away and his head was full of Bludgers and Snitches and amazing impossible moves that he could certainly duplicate on a broom if only he was given a new one for Christmas.

But in the end it was Teddy who caught her out, just as he and his grandmother were bidding everyone goodnight. He came to Ruta and flung his arms around her waist.

"I'm so glad that you're back, Auntie Ruta," he said, "and I'm sure your arm will be better soon. Gran Dromeda says she'll cook for you until you can stir in a pot yourself… and she has told me that you can live with us and that she won't be afraid because you can lock yourself in your house when the moon is full – but I'm _not_ afraid of you, not at all."

A stony silence fell over the room, and Ruta heard someone gasp in shock. This was it - the first flinch, the first carelessness, the first accidental blow. But for all the lurking fear that had haunted her, she found that she could meet it. She would not look up into the pale, horrified faces around her. She would hold herself together, and not frighten or upset this most beloved child.

"That's good to hear, sweetheart," she said in a light tone, stroking his cheek. "And you are right - there's no need to be afraid. I would never harm you… and no one else, if I may add."

Now she managed to turn to the others, and still her voice was astonishingly calm.

"Would you please excuse me? That was a long day… I'd like to lie down a bit. Thank you all for your… warm welcome."

She walked out of the parlor, across the vestibule and up the stairs until she had reached the small, candlelit guest room that Ginny had prepared for her. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, blindly gazing down at her hands. She was shaking from head to toe, and now that the realization of what Teddy had said to her fully hit home, she felt the blood leave her face. She leaned down until her head was between her knees and breathed in deep, long gulps until she no longer feared that she would throw up on the carpet.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Ruta?" _Ginny's voice._ "May… may I come in?"

"No." She winced at her own tone. "I'm sorry, Ginny… but I'd rather be alone for a while."

A long pause, then Ginny's voice again, gentle and hesitant.

"You know that Teddy didn't mean any harm, don't you?"

"Of course I know." _Merlin, she was so terribly tired._ "He's just repeating what he's heard his Granny say. And before you ask, I know that Dromeda doesn't mean any harm either. She's just afraid, which is most understandable. Except that I would rather kill myself than hurt Teddy, and I'm much more afraid than she could ever be."

"I'm so sorry."

_Of course she was sorry. Everyone was sorry for her these days. The Healers at St. Mungo's, Neville, Hannah Abbott, Dromeda, Harry, Ginny… but it didn't help._

"Listen, Ginny… I'm weary to the bones, and I really need to get some rest now. Would you mind if we discuss this tomorrow?"

"Not at all. Good night, Ruta. Sleep as long as you like… I'll have breakfast ready for you as soon as you're awake."

She heard soft steps walking away, got up from the bed and clumsily began to undress. She was honestly thankful for the Potters' hospitality; she had few illusions about how difficult it would be to fight her way through the daily routine in her own house, with only one hand and few spells. But even this bright, little chamber felt as much a prison as the room at St. Mungo's had, and she had no intention of staying any longer than she had to, no matter how pleasant the atmosphere and how soft the bed might be.

Freeing her injured, half paralyzed arm from the long trumpet sleeve proved to be more difficult than expected – somehow it had been easier to get _into_ it, this morning at St. Mungo's. But finally Ruta managed, and first slipped out of the dress and then into her nightgown. She sank down on the bed; the pain was burning in her shoulder like fire and she bit her lip, forcefully willing herself not to cry out. Finally she blew out the candles, pulled the duvet over her body and lay in the darkness, eyes wide open and hopelessly waiting for a sleep that wouldn't come.

vvvvv

The next day dawned cold and clear. Harry rose early and was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, a plate full of scrambled eggs and the _Daily Prophet_ when Ruta entered the room. She wore the burgundy red robe he had seen yesterday evening, but her hair was down and unbraided. She interpreted his gaze correctly and gave a small smile while he hurriedly pointed his wand at the cupboard, and an extra plate, a mug and cutlery settled down in front of her.

"I will need Ginny's help with my hair," she said, reaching out for the coffee pot with her left hand; Harry was wise enough not to offer his assistance.

"Ginny's still asleep," he said when she finally took her first sip. "Jamie was a little restless last night."

"I think I heard him once or twice. Teething again?"

"No, a particularly nasty case of wind. And he hates fennel tea with honey."

"Try chamomile," she offered, "and add a bit of maple syrup instead of honey… honey is something a child his age might have problems digesting, and it makes his stomach ache even worse."

"I'll tell her," Harry said, taking the pan and loading scrambled eggs and fresh toast on her plate. "How do you know so much about it? You've never had children of your own, but Ginny always says she needs no guidebook for parents as long as you are around."

Ruta smiled again, this time deeper and more genuine.

"Well, she could ask her mother," she gave back, "but I suppose it's a bit stressful to endure the constant advice of someone who always insists on knowing better.—And I had Teddy for practice, see? When Remus and Dora died, Dromeda was left behind with a helpless babe. Teddy had to be fed with a bottle, of course, which was probably the reason why he was colicky for months... she had breastfed Dora, and a little boy, screaming night after night, was a completely new and disturbing experience for her. When I came, I had nothing to offer but my unconditional will to help and a lot of old herbals. Our knowledge grew with the years."

"You've done a fantastic job so far," Harry said honestly, then gave her a slightly sheepish smile. "I love Molly very much, but even I have to confess that she's a bit… _overwhelming_ at times."

They fell silent, and he watched her eat, unable to concentrate on his newspaper. He wondered how she would react if he mentioned the evening before; Dromeda had been devastated about the abrupt end of their little feast, and he felt sorry for the sudden, painful gap between two old and very close friends who were both very dear to him.

Ruta seemed to sense his unease.

"Don't worry about yesterday," she said, laying her fork down. "I know it was not your fault. It was not even Dromeda's fault – she has to get used to the situation; we all do. Perhaps things will be a bit less troublesome as soon as I'm home again… and as soon as she finds out that I won't take any chance of harming a child I love as dearly as if he were my own."

She blinked rapidly, but she regained her composure before he could see any tears, wiped her mouth with a napkin and got up rather quickly.

"And now, if you allow me… I could use a bit of fresh air."

"Why don't you wait until Ginny's up?" he asked. "I thought you wanted her help with your braid."

She stood in the door.

"No... no, it's not important," she said softly. "I have more important things to think about. And I want to go home long enough to see my garden. I've missed it badly."

"Do you think you'll manage?" Harry asked. "You've only just left the hospital."

"It was my arm that was hurt, Harry; my legs are working perfectly. And it's only a few miles. After four weeks of the same walls around me I'm starved for green hills and open skies." She sighed and braced herself. "I need some time, that's all. And I'd rather face Fionnula sooner rather than later. If I go now I can talk to her before the shop opens and she has customers to deal with."

And with that she left the kitchen and was gone.

vvvvv

Ginny came down barely fifteen minutes later, fully dressed. She gave him a kiss that tasted of tooth paste and tenderness, sat down and had reached for the coffee pot when she noticed the second, abandoned plate.

"Did Ruta have breakfast already?" She frowned. "And where is she? Her room is empty."

"She went for a walk," Harry said, folding the newspaper. "She said she wants to talk to Fionnula Flannagan; given the injuries to her arm and shoulder, she'll hardly be able to work for the next few weeks."

"Or months," Ginny added, a steep fold between her eyebrows. "Too bad werewolf bites can't be really healed by using magic. And she should be a bit careful of exactly what she tells Fionnula."

Harry took a sip of coffee. "Why is that?"

"Don't be silly, love," Ginny retorted, giving him look between pity and amusement. "The Muggle newspapers only wrote about a wolf that escaped from a private zoo and had to be shot. Ruta might tell Fionnula about some severe accident, but even if she is smart enough to conceal what really happened to her, and if Fionnula doesn't realize the truth… the moment Ruta mentions the fact that she will be forced to take a few days off every time the moon is full, that woman will certainly smell a rat. She's not stupid. - Will she come straight back when she's done?"

"No… she told me she wanted to walk home and see her garden."

Ginny shook her head. "All on her own? Stubborn woman."

Harry sighed. "I can't blame her. She certainly has a lot to think about." _How to survive as a werewolf -- especially if she loses her job over it._

The doorbell startled them both. Harry got up, went to the entrance and opened; a tall, dark figure stood waiting under the porch, face shadowed by a big hood.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

For a second or two Harry stood disbelieving and frozen until he found his voice again.

"Professor Sn… sorry. _Mr. Seeker._ What… what are you doing here?"

"Paying a visit," his former headmaster, potions teacher and personal _Nemesis_ retorted dryly. "Though it's not exactly you I want to see. I'd like to visit Miss Lupin."

"Who told you that she's here?" Harry asked, unable to hold back.

"I have my sources," Stephen Seeker replied placidly. "I was informed that Miss Lupin was released from St. Mungo's yesterday, and that Mr. Longbottom accompanied her to this house. And although we can certainly continue discussing this matter on your doorstep, I think it would be far more convenient to move inside."

"Oh." Harry cleared his throat. "Of course. Please, do come in."

He closed the door and followed his unexpected visitor into the kitchen. Ginny – who still sat at the table – raised her gaze from Harry's abandoned _Daily Prophet_, and her eyes went wide. But when she spoke, her voice was calm and casual, and Harry felt a sudden twinge of loving pride.

"Mr. Seeker. Welcome to Berwick – your first visit, I believe?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Potter." Stephen Seeker bowed with formal courtesy. "My pleasure. But I must confess that I didn't come to see you… I should like to have a few words with Ruta Lupin. Is she here?"

"You just missed her," Ginny replied, eying him inquisitorially. "She left about fifteen minutes ago, to see her employer."

"What for?" Seeker asked, his tone slightly sharp.

Ginny hesitated, then visibly decided to trust him with more information.

"To inform her that she won't return to work any time soon, I think," she slowly said. "The wounds are not properly healed, and she's still unable to move her right hand."

Stephen Seeker opened his mouth, but what ever threatened to escape, it remained unsaid when he firmly closed it again. He took a deep breath, then crossed his arms and gave a frustrated sigh.

"Mrs. Potter... I'm absolutely aware of the fact that you have known Miss Lupin much longer – and probably better – than I have. But I have reasons to come to certain… erh… conclusions about her character. She is a very honorable woman, astonishingly loyal… and unfortunately very devoted to the truth. What do you think will she tell the lady in question – Mrs. Flannagan?"

"That she won't be able to work," Ginny gave back. "Nothing more, I hope… to say anything more would be incredibly foolish."

"Not foolish," Seeker answered. "Only overcredulous. I have reason to believe that Miss Lupin tends to think the best of those around her… at least those to whom she has given her trust."

_She trusted you_, Harry thought, thankful that Seeker didn't bother to look at him in this moment. _And surprisingly enough she was right._

"If Miss Lupin decides to tell the truth, what do you think will happen?" Seeker softly asked.

"It will be a disaster," Harry suddenly heard himself say. "Even Andromeda can't help being afraid of her, and they have been very close friends for more than eight years."

He paused, the sound of his last words like ashes on his tongue. "I don't believe so, of course. And I also believe in her ability to keep a dangerous secret – when she came to Hogwarts, she knew about the fact that Remus was a werewolf. But she told no one. I only found out that she had known all the time when that damned book by Rita Skeeter came out… and that was more than twenty years later."

"Try to _think_, Mr. Potter, for goodness sake," Seeker impatiently replied, "Miss Lupin's astonishing resolution to protect those she counts among her friends won't help her keeping her own secret in this instance. If Mrs. Flannagan is not blind and deaf to the simple facts, she will figure out the truth anyway, sooner or later."

For a moment he was silent.

"And now examine your heart," he finally continued, his voice very soft. "If you put your mulish loyalty aside for just a moment - do you really blame Andromeda Tonks for her fear? You have a son now, I believe; would you leave him in Ruta's care without thinking twice?"

"Of course!" Harry angrily retorted. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach, and suddenly a great wave of pity for Ruta Lupin washed over him. "She would never…"

"Remus Lupin would never have hurt you, or Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger. Not deliberately." Seeker's eyes brought back the old memory. "But once the moon touched him, deliberation was beyond him. Only the interference of your godfather kept you safe that night."

Silence fell between them again, heavy with frightening images never really forgotten. When Seeker continued, Harry was honestly relieved.

"This is why I have come to offer my assistance; if Miss Lupin trusts me to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for her; she will be able to live through the change without doing harm to herself or to anyone else, and to keep her senses clear… which is the most that can be done, given the curse that has befallen her."

A small, mirthless smile curled his lips.

"I have the suspicion that her unfortunate sense of consideration might keep her from asking for my help. Therefore I have decided not to wait for her – doubtlessly very heroic and selfless – decision to spare me the trouble." He turned back to Ginny. "When did she leave?"

"Fifteen minutes ago," Ginny said. "But it's not very far from here… only a short walk down the street."

"Then I'd best hurry," Seeker said, pulling his hood up again and nodding to Ginny and Harry as he made ready to leave. "Mrs. Potter. Mr. Potter."

Harry cleared his throat. _"Wait."_

Within a minute he was out of the door and back again, handing his former teacher a shimmering bundle. Seeker unfolded it, touching the priceless, magical fabric with a kind of wondering reverence. Their eyes met, and Harry saw that the emotions he so vividly remembered – bitterness, cold hate and unforgiving repulsion – had vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing than the unease and deep concern for Ruta he felt himself.

"There are too many people in Berwick who might know you and try to stop you along the way," Harry said, his mouth dry. "And I'm fresh out of Polyjuice Potion. Just bring it back when you and Ruta don't need it anymore."

"I will. Thank you, Mr. Potter." Seeker wrapped the cloak around his tall figure and vanished; Harry felt his wife coming to his side; her fingers entwined with his. Together they listened to the steps of the invisible man and to the opening and closing of the front door. It was Ginny who spoke first.

"Come along, Harry," she said. "Let's have another cup of coffee."

He gazed into the familiar, pretty face.

"Do you think he… and does _she…"_

"It doesn't matter what I think, my love, or even you," she said with a smile. "Whatever was past is past, and you know that very well, dearheart." Her smile deepened, and for a second Harry could see Molly in her eyes... _lover, warrior and mother at the same time._ "Why else would you have lent him the cloak? He always did deserve trust, but now he has earned it as well. And for all that we both might want to help her, too, I think Ruta could choose no better ally."


	12. Of Lies And Of Truth

Chapter Eleven  
**Of Lies And Of Truth**

The sky showed a pale, translucent blue when Stephen Seeker strode down the street in the direction Ginny Potter had pointed him. To his surprise he found that he was honestly enjoying finally doing more than the few steps from the front door of his cottage to the garden gate, but he had to wrap the precious cloak most carefully around his body to keep it from billowing in the fresh breeze. He was considerably taller than its true owner and found himself forced to walk in a slightly crooked posture to avoid curious looks at booted feet taking a promenade all on their own.

Ginny Potter had been right; it was only a short walk. Less than five minutes later he saw a one-storied house, built of the same grey stone as the Potter's cottage. Long rows of aster beds in the warm, rich colors of autumn filled the flamboyant front garden and a huge, golden sign with green letters told him that he had reached _Fionnula Flannagan's Fascinating Flowers_.

Wide glass doors opened to a big showroom, and roof lights let the sun in. The multitude of scents was overwhelming and nearly numbing. He passed a dozen buckets with cut roses and an enormous plant bowl with long-stemmed flowers in glowing red and orange shades and a sign that said: "CAUTION, MAGICAL FIRE LILIES - DON'T RISK BLISTERS!" He wondered briefly what the sign said when read by Muggle eyes, but then he was distracted by a young woman, her blonde, curly hair tamed by two long braids; she was arguing with an elder lady.

"You told me to plant the rows with those new Babbling Begonias further apart to keep them from chatting, Miss Veronica," the lady complained with a shrill voice. "But now they're _yelling_at each other, and my poor doggy won't stop whining and stubbornly refuses to come out from under the bed!"

He left the two women behind him as he walked through a high archway into a huge greenhouse. Long tables with planting boxes stretched into the distance, but aside from the plants there was no sign of life. To his right, a second archway led into another greenhouse, and he could hear the sound of voices from there... or of _one_voice, to be precise. He turned right, passed through the second archway… and nearly ran into Ruta, who was standing just beyond it, her back turned to him, straight and rigid as a broomstick.

"… my dear Ruta, you certainly understand that I can't easily square it with my conscience to let someone with your special… erh… _condition_work here. I have to consider my customers…"

He made a soundless step to the left and now he could see the woman speaking; she was around her sixties, rather small and plump, and she wore the same green apron he had already seen on the young gardener in the showroom. She also had the same fine, blonde hair and very similar features; they were obviously related. The green apron covered the biggest part of a dress with a generous pattern of colorful flowers… a dress that would have excellently suited the type of grandmother baking cookies and fruit cakes and gifting her offspring with hand-knitted sweaters... only that the woman wearing it wouldn't fit that cozy image. Her round face was a tense and anxious grimace, and the smile on her lips was false.

"Listen, Fionnula…"

He stood by Ruta's side, still hidden beneath the cloak, and studied her profile. She was deadly pale, and a muscle was twitching above her cheekbone, but her voice betrayed nothing of the turmoil he could sense beneath the calm surface.

"I already told you that I won't be able to work for the next few months anyway. This is nothing we have to discuss right now. And as soon as I'm able to use my right arm again, I will take care to be away from here every time the …" A short pause, then she continued in a slightly strained tone. "… every time it is _necessary_. There is no need to worry."

"Don't be _naïve,_lass," Fionnula snapped. "Maybe wizards don't usually read those silly Muggle papers, but I do. I have many customers in St. Mary Green and the entire Eskdale, who have never raised a wand in their entire life, and you know that perfectly well. A wolf killed one night, my best rose gardener, not coming to work the very next day and then miraculously vanishing behind the walls of St. Mungo's for more than a month… do you really think I'm that dimwitted? And my daughter works here, mind you, and I won't put her health and fate to risk… not to speak of my own."

She shot Ruta a gaze of thinly veiled disgust. _The way she would look down on some pestilential creature_, Seeker thought, and suddenly he had to fight the childish impulse to throw off the cloak and to leap to her defense.

He remembered how Minerva had told him about Harry doing exactly the same thing eight years ago, when Amycus Carrow spat into her face in the Ravenclaw Common room, just before the last great battle. They'd been sitting in the Headmaster's office, exchanging apologies and explanations over a very good bottle of scotch, not three months after his "resurrection".

_"I wonder how he managed to survive those last years at school with more than his share of idiotic Gryffindor chivalry, mixed in with the usual improvidence of too many adolescent hormones!"_had been his immediate, snappish reaction.

Minerva's answer had been delivered with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smile, her Scottish accent a distant drumroll in her voice. _"Because of his courage and the loyalty of his friends… and because of you. As you know damned well, my dear Severus."_

He nearly missed that Fionnula was speaking again.

"Aside from the danger, there's also the financial situation I have to think about," she mercilessly went on. "According to your own words, you won't be able to work here for months… if ever." A look of repugnance at the limp fingers of Ruta's right hand. "I need someone who will reliably be here, to take over the rose-growing… someone who doesn't drop out of sight every time the moon turns full. And even if you _could_work in the near future - do you really think people who know will still be willing to buy anything from you?"

He felt Ruta wince beside him, but she still kept her voice perfectly under control.

"They won't know, unless you decide to tell them… and even if they do, why should they hesitate to appreciate my work?" she asked. "My skills won't change just because my body will. I am what I always have been."

"Sad to say, but you're wrong," Fionnula said, and he could hear a hint of cold pity in her voice. "The moment you got into the way of that beast, you lost every chance to stay… erh… normal." Seeker didn't see the expression of Ruta's face, but the elder woman did, and now her tone was at the same time embarrassed and angry. "Don't look at me that way, lass – it's not my fault that werewolves contaminate everything they touch."

"It is not my fault either." Ruta's voice was nearly inaudible.

"I didn't say that it was _your_fault!" Fionnula countered defensively, her tone shrill and exasperated. "But you'll have to cope with the consequences, my dear, however unpleasant, and I think we should put an end to this conversation now. We're moving in circles."

She hesitated, eyeing her former employee with a calculating gaze.

"Anyway, you did an exce... perfectly _adequate_ job during the last eight years. And if you promise me to refrain from making any trouble, I would be willing to grant you three… well, _two_months' salary, as severance pay, given your… erh… difficult situation."

"How utterly generous." Ruta's voice was a perplexingly close echo of his own sarcastic thoughts, and for some unknown reason this realization cut through his fortified defenses like a knife. "I guess I should go now."

"Good luck, Ruta." Fionnula turned away, busying herself with a planting shovel, a flower box and a dozen seedlings. "I asked Veronica to pack your personal belongings yesterday; they are in the wooden box in the rose house. If you can't take them with you, please arrange for someone to collect them by next weekend. You must excuse me… I'm rather occupied right now."

"Of course you are. Farewell, Fionnula." Ruta whirled around, hurrying through the archway into the next greenhouse. But instead of continuing her way into the showroom, she walked over to a narrow glass door he hadn't noticed before.

It led into a small, sunny room, half of it filled with countless roses and the other half overflowing with their heady, spicy scent. Ruta headed straight for a big table with phials, bottles, flasks, beakers, and a small alembic, and Seeker felt a sudden tinge of sheer longing for the familiar equipment he had left behind in another life, and the fulfillment it promised. But this was not _his_lost sanctuary.

He stood back and watched her as she silently ran her fingers along glass, clay and wood; after a while she produced a small key from the pocket of her burgundy robe. She opened a drawer in the front of the table, pulled out a small book and slipped it into her pocket. Then she turned away, and her gaze wandered along the long rows of saplings, the multitude of rose trees in every color imaginable and in all stages from buds to full, glorious bloom. He saw that she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; for a few minutes she stood without moving. Then she shrugged off her numbness, dropped the key on the table and walked out of the silent, fragrant room, leaving the door wide open.

They had nearly reached the entrance of the market garden when the younger Flannagan woman ran after them. Quickly he ducked behind a huge planting bowl and watched her reach out hesitantly to touch Ruta's arm.

"Will… will you come back soon? What did Mama say?"

"We have decided that it might be better for your mother to look for a successor in the rose house," Ruta replied. "She… we don't believe that I'll be able to come back any time soon."

"But - "

"She is right," Ruta gently said. "And after our conversation I don't think that it would be a good idea anyway."

"_Oh._" The young woman stared down at her hands, biting her lip. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

"I am, too." Ruta leaned over and kissed her cheek. "But this doesn't mean that we have to lose sight of each other, does it? You know where I live, and you are always welcome, Veronica."

"I'm so sorry," Veronica repeated, still not raising her gaze.

Ruta turned away and went out through the big glass door, past the aster beds and out on the street. She didn't give the place where she'd been earning her living for the past eight years another glance, but turned her back to it with a firm finality. Seeker wondered if she would return to the Potter's house to lick her wounds, but to his surprise she took the road that led past grey houses and autumnal gardens, out of Berwick and towards St. Mary Green.

He had to take long steps to keep up with her – which proved to be more arduous than expected, given the insufficient length of the Invisibility Cloak – and very soon they were out of the small town, leaving the last buildings behind and walking to a bend where an old fashioned road sign said _Smithybrow Lane_. She turned right to where a grove of oaks and beeches painted a dancing pattern of green and gold on the asphalt. The sun sailed high in a clear, blue sky now, and the rippling waves of a big pond glittered brightly behind the crowns of the trees off to the left as Ruta went by, her eyes blind to the beauty of the landscape; she walked very fast now. They had reached the open countryside by the time the road to St. Mary Green crossed a narrow railroad track and passed a few farmhouse buildings before vanishing again under the shadow of the next copse.

They were shortly beyond the railway crossing when the high, clear tone of a steam whistle made them both turn; Seeker saw an astonishingly small locomotive approaching from the direction of Berwick, trailing a white cloud behind it and pulling half a dozen equally small carriages. The entire train was painted in merry colors of red, blue and green, and Seeker could spot a few faces behind the glass of the windows… obviously Muggles, enjoying a small holiday trip.

Ruta followed the train with her eyes until the rail track turned slightly to the left and all they could still see was the white flag of steam, drifting like fog across the lush meadow. She turned away and began to walk again, much more slowly this time; she reached the forest, but after a few dozen steps she suddenly stopped. He fell behind, watching her. She was breathing laboriously, clenching and unclenching her undamaged hand. Abruptly she left the road, heading towards a voluminous, ancient beech. She laid her palm flat against the trunk, and her head sank forward until her brow touched the smooth, grey bark. Her shoulders were shaking, and with a pang of discomfort he realized that she was crying.

His first and most fervid impulse was to back out of the situation at once. Tears had always been an awkward, miserable and downright offensive matter to him, and any student of Slytherin house in need of compassion would probably have preferred to die a shameful death before searching for any kind of comfort he might have condescended to offer.

But before he could bow to one of his oldest instincts, he saw the scene in the market garden in front of his inner eye again, clear and sharp like a magical photograph. That small, maleficent cow, holding her fear and prejudices up against Ruta like a shield, refusing to acknowledge that she needed friendship, help or some unabashed support… and Ruta, keeping her dignity far beyond the point where he would have pulled out his wand to give Fionnula Flannagan the thorough chastisement she deserved. With honest surprise he discovered how utterly furious he was on Ruta's behalf.

_Enough of this ridiculous Hide and Seek. She deserved better… they both did._

He let the Invisibility Cloak slip down from his shoulders and gratefully stretched his back.

"I admire your self-command," he quietly said. "If I were you, Mrs. Flannagan would now sport rabbit ears, embarrassingly oversized teeth and an insatiable appetite for her most expensive plants."

Ruta whirled around. She was white as chalk, her cheeks were damp, her eyes blazing with shock and anger.

"For heaven's sake - _Stephen!_ What are you doing here?" She rubbed her face with her sleeve, and he saw that her fingers were trembling violently. He reached into the pocket of his coat and wordlessly presented her with a handkerchief. She took it and unceremoniously blew her nose, then stared at him over the white cloth, noticing the Invisibility Cloak bundled over his arm, and blanching even more.

"How long…" She cleared her throat. "How long have you been… erh… observing me?"

"I wouldn't call it observation," he retorted. "I came over to the Potters' to offer my help, and they told me that you were going to see your employer. I must confess that I suspected – given your unfortunate addiction to the truth – that you would do nothing less but reveal the full story to Mrs. Flannagan and humbly surrender to her mercy."

She stared at him, clutching the damp handkerchief in her fist.

"I – no. Of course not. I'm not a complete idiot." She snorted. "All I told her was that I wouldn't be able to work in the near future. And all the time she kept staring at my arm, and then she began to pick my brain about that mysterious wolf being shot in St. Mary Green. Ginny had only told her about a severe accident, but she found out that I had been brought to St. Mungo's. Her daughter – Veronica – has quite a crush on that young Healer - Tiberius Tondrake - and they have been going out together for months now. Perhaps he accidentally let something slip about my whereabouts. The rest was easy, I guess."

Stephen Seeker raised one eyebrow.

"You could have made up a story for her."

"Oh, _certainly." _Her tone was bitter. "And it might even have satisfied her – until the next full moon." She bit her lips, unconsciously hugging herself. "And I prefer honesty. I really don't think it would be a good idea to constantly put the wool over anyone's eyes… Fionnula's included."

He studied her blank face.

"Tell me something," he said. "When you came to Hogwarts in 1974, did you already know that your cousin was a werewolf?"

Ruta eyed him with faint surprise.

"Yes, naturally. He'd already been a werewolf for three years when he left Primary School, and he was terribly afraid that he might not be accepted. It was an enormous relief for him that he actually got his letter. When I came to Hogwarts, he had already found friends… they were the only ones beside me and his parents who _knew."_

Seeker wisely decided to keep any comment about Remus' friends to himself, but a short, ironical glint in her eyes told him that she was well aware of his consideration.

"Which means that you were the only one beside the… erh… _legendary_ Marauders who could have revealed his secret," he said. "But you never did… not even to your closest friends."

"Because I didn't have any close friends," she countered. "There were a few girls I got along with pretty well, and the usual handful of classmates I adored from afar… but no one I would have wanted to tell _this._"

She broke off, her gaze distant, as if lost in old memories.

"Besides… Remus asked me to keep a certain distance, for the sake of his safety… and my own. We rarely spoke to each other, aside from a few family gatherings at home, in the spring and winter holidays."

He saw the ghost of a smile playing around her lips.

"You know, I was a remarkably colorless student, constantly sitting in a corner of the Ravenclaw common room with my nose in a book. No one thought me likely to know about such a very juicy secret, and therefore no one asked." Their eyes met. "Not even you." Her gaze held a clear challenge. "And you must have been looking for a weapon against James Potter and his… _gang_… with all your might."

"If you refer to the unfortunate attempt to discover your cousin's whereabouts under the Whomping Willow in my sixth year…" he stiffly said, his lips involuntarily forming a thin line.

"About which I have a rather strong opinion," she promptly retorted. "But I doubt you want to hear it."

"Quite to the contrary," Seeker coolly remarked, studying the pale face beside him. "I can't wait to hear what you think about the matter."

"It should be obvious, shouldn't it?" Ruta said, her voice brusque. "In my opinion, Sirius behaved like an irresponsible arse, and James came back to his senses just in time to keep the consequences at bay. And even twenty years later Remus still felt guilty about it. As if he could have prevented it!" She sighed. "He felt guilty for many things… among them some that really were not _his _fault."

Seeker eyed her thoughtfully.

"Knowing about his secret might have kept me from going into danger then," he slowly said. "But I think I still may count myself lucky… unlike Sirius Black and your cousin I am still alive."

Ruta rubbed her forehead.

"In the end you didn't need me to find out the truth, did you?" She gave a short laugh. "You didn't notice me anyway when you were a student. No wonder… as I said, I was a colorless bookworm, constantly hiding behind the shelves of the library."

"I did quite a bit of reading myself." His lips curled to a small smile. "Madam Pince used to compare me to a black crow."

"Then I should perhaps be thankful that we didn't meet there." She shot him an ironical glance. "You know what crows do with worms, don't you?"

His face grew serious again, and for a short moment he felt very uncomfortable.

"I don't know what I would have done," he said. "I was desperately keen on proving my worth and my amazing abilities, regardless to whom. You may count yourself lucky that I simply… _missed _this unique chance to find out what I wanted to know."

He cleared his throat, surprised at his own honesty.

"You are definitely safer in my company today than you were back then. And for whatever reason, you did manage to keep his secret, as you have kept mine during the past few weeks. It seems as if even your admirable bluntness has its limits."

Ruta shot him a strange side glance. "Very true… more than you might ever know."

She stepped back on the road, and they slowly walked side by side towards St. Mary Green. The forest thinned, and the road grew a little broader, bordered by low quarry stone walls. To the left and the right green meadows and fields spread to the feet of the hills that rose like the waves of a giant, petrified ocean, the surface littered by rocks and trees; they passed a few farms and a big, generous hotel building with a wide, nearly empty parking lot on the left side and a deserted garden café.

"Summer holidays are long over," Ruta said, "and the train we saw was half empty. It reminded me of Teddy, you know… a Muggle wrote a series of books, using that train as a model, and Teddy grew up with the stories of _Thomas the Tank Engine_ as well as with the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. I read both to him when he was smaller, and the first trip we ever made together was on that train, from St. Mary Green to the coast and back. He loved it, and whenever he has the time nowadays to do as he pleases, he visits the turntable."

"The turntable?"

"St. Mary Green is the terminal station," Ruta explained. "The steam engine moves onto a turntable, is turned around by two men and then drives back. Teddy never grows tired of watching."

She fell silent, her eyes fixed on the road. From the tension in her face he could tell that her thoughts were taking an unpleasant direction, but he decided not to ask. It was astonishing enough that she suffered his presence anyway… had he found himself in her situation, he would have holed up like some wounded beast, snapping at everyone who dared to venture close.

It took almost another mile before she finally spoke again.

"I will have to try and find another job." Her voice had a strange sound of disbelief… as if she were watching the radically changed circumstances of her personal life from a distance, only reluctantly willing to acknowledge the need to cope with it. "Fionnula's garden market is the biggest in the area – in fact it is the only one in the entire Eskdale – and the opportunities around here are rather slim."

"You could go back to the place where you worked before," he suggested cautiously. "Where was that – near Dover?"

"Yes," she replied. "I am probably lucky that the laws against the hiring of werewolves are history now… though I'd still better try to search for a tolerant employer. And I am not entirely sure that they would be." She sighed. "I might as well accept Neville's offer and apply for the post as an assistant of the professor for Herbology. At least I would not be the first werewolf to teach there."

"What would you do if you had the choice?" he asked.

Another long, heavy silence, then she looked at him, her slate blue eyes filled with a sudden, burning despair. "But I _have_ no choice!" she blurted out. "I can't do what I really want to do; my account at Gringotts has never been opulent, my father's pension is barely enough to feed him, and the orders from the Muggles in St. Mary Green won't be enough to feed _me_. Even with two months' severance pay from Fionnula I will have to leave… and all I really want to do is to stay with Teddy."

A sudden gust of wind turned her hair to a shimmering cloud around her face; for the first time he registered that she wasn't wearing her usual, chaste braid. The long, fluttering strands gave her an unfamiliar appearance, and suddenly he remembered how she had thrown herself at the werewolf, her voice a feral growl, her hands formed to claws. She had been ready and willing to sacrifice her life for the boy… and the staggering similarity to his worst, personal grief ever pierced the walls he had so carefully erected to shield his soul. An unexpected wave of annoyed impatience washed over him.

"How old is Teddy? Eight?" His tone was brusquer than intended, but he couldn't help it. "Give him three more years and he will receive his letter from Hogwarts. That will be the day when he leaves you, only to return for the holidays, and this simple fact will rob you of your last excuse to bury your talents between rose bushes, chrysanthemums and ivy. I don't know Andromeda Tonks very well, but I think she's absolutely capable of handling the boy alone, even if your assistance over the last eight years was without any doubt very… _comfortable_."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, her eyes shooting thunderbolts. When she was finally able to speak, her voice was nearly inaudible with anger.

"You… you have no idea what you're talking about," she said. "Even if you don't understand how I feel about Teddy, you should at least know enough about the binding nature of promises. You kept watching over Lily's boy, didn't you - even though you constantly saw James mirrored in his face."

She broke off, her voice a stifled sob in her throat.

"I am really sorry, Stephen, I shouldn't have said that, but please - I can't simply leave Teddy, I can't let him down. I already betrayed his father, and I won't make the same mistake again."

He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before… her face was glowing with rage and a passionate desperation. Gone was the Ruta he'd come to know during the past weeks, vanished without a trace was the composed, humorous woman who had patiently worked her way through his defenses and taught him things about friendship and trust he had never known during a laborious, dull life, spent in darkness and secrecy. This was an entirely different person… and suddenly and with cold clarity he _understood_.

"For you Remus Lupin has always been more than just a cherished cousin." It was a statement, not a question. "You loved him."

Ruta gave him a hard look, raising her chin… but it was nothing more but a last rearguard action, and they both knew it. Her shoulders slumped; she stepped over to the quarry stone wall and leaned against it, her head bowed.

"Of course I did," she finally replied, her voice soft and brittle. "I always loved him, ever since I was a little girl. He was my childhood hero, and I had no eyes for anyone else… if Greyback had not decided to use him for his personal revenge against my uncle, things might have been different. But it's no use thinking about it. After Remus had been assaulted and infected, things changed... they simply had to. We grew up and our friendship held, but he steadfastly refused to see that my feelings for him slowly turned to something more serious and mature. All he noticed was the clumsy, affectionate little cousin, but I began to see him as the man I wanted to share my life with."

She looked at him, her eyes dark and haunted.

"I've never told anyone. I never wanted to. And to tell _you_of all people..."

_Then why had she spoken?_ It would be no wonder if her defenses were threadbare after all that had happened. His guess at her past might have pierced them. But why did it make a difference to her that she was speaking to _him?_

"I can assure you that I never intended to discover your deepest secrets... though I must confess that I was curious," he said slowly. "I would understand it only too well if you decided to end this difficult conversation here and now."

"Thank you," Ruta earnestly answered. "But in a way I feel that I owe you at least a piece of the truth... for the sake of our friendship." Her lips twitched. "If you agree that what we share actually _is _a friendship."

Seeker hesitated, and then gave a small, solemn bow. "In this case… tell me as much as you see fit."

Ruta pushed away from the wall, and they walked side by side again.

"In the years after Greyback attacked him I met Remus only a few times, but at least on a regular basis," she continued. "Thanks to Dumbledore's generosity he was allowed to go to Hogwarts, and two years later I followed him. As I told you, our contact was strictly limited to occasions outside of school, and even though I steadily left my childhood behind and began to fall in love with him, he gave no sign whatsoever that he might return my feelings. I didn't care… I thought time was working for me. The day would certainly come when his eyes were opened and he finally noticed the woman I had developed into… and we would live happily forever after." She caught a glimpse of his impervious face and her lips twitched once more. "Try to bear with me… I was terribly young and stupid."

He made a noncommittal noise.

"And I fear I didn't get wiser with the years." She gave a short, self-deprecating chuckle. "We were cousins, so very good friends… I was sure I knew what he was thinking, and there were times when I could almost finish his sentences before he did... I honestly thought we were meant for each other. But then I slowly came to realize that the curse lying upon him worked like a wall between us, obstructing his view of me and also his view of himself. He was absolutely convinced that marrying or even seeking out a lover was absolutely no option for him… and whatever I felt, whatever I tried to insinuate to him, my hopes kept being shattered against his stony resolution to protect the world against the danger in his blood."

She sighed, running the fingers of her good hand through her long, tousled hair.

"And yet… even though he forbade himself to love, he hungered for friendship. Merlin, how _much _he hungered for it! That might have been one of the strongest reasons why he didn't take his duty as Prefect seriously enough, at least when it came to the Marauders."

Their eyes met.

"He knew he should have kept them from harassing you," she said, her voice gentle. "If there was anything he was honestly ashamed of, it was his constant failure to stand up against them."

Seeker shook his head.

"I wholeheartedly appreciate your attempt to put balm on an old wound of mine, but we're not talking about _my _long past tragedies. I still would like to know what gives you the eccentric idea that you betrayed your cousin."

"That's quite easy," she gave back. "I probably won't have to tell you anything about the awful years when the Dark Lord rose for the first time… and about the consequences of that ominous prophecy?"

"No," he grimly retorted. "No, you won't."

"When James and Lily Potter went into hiding Remus was shattered. He missed them so much, and it wasn't just because James had always seen to it that he had enough money to eat and clothes on his back. He'd never been really happy taking charity, except that James and Sirius... and Peter too... always said that it wasn't charity, it was friendship. But it was not being able to go and talk to them, not being able to see how Harry was doing, that had him hovering between hope and fear. So I was the one he turned to with his misgivings - while I was still anxiously waiting for him to look beyond the childhood companion and the clingy, little girl. And then that October night in 1981 came crashing down on all of us. A few hours after Lily's and James' death he stood on my doorstep."

He looked at her, but she turned her face away.

"He was completely beside himself." Her voice was soft and tense. "He was barely able to say anything coherent, but finally he stammered out the story of what had happened that night. I… I didn't know what to do, I had never seen him like that. I cried with him, and I held him in my arms, and I listened to him while he helplessly and angrily accused himself of being careless, of not guarding them properly to keep them safe, of not understanding in time that Sirius was a filthy traitor, a murderer… He had lost all his friends at once, and right in that moment he didn't care a straw that Voldemort had obviously been destroyed while trying to kill Lily's child. I gave him wine, hoping that the alcohol would finally stop the unbearable flood of self-hate and naked desperation."

She fell silent once more, and he waited patiently. Finally she continued.

"The alcohol calmed him down, at least a little. We were both shaken to the core, but as the night advanced I suddenly realized that the whole tragical situation was… like a _gift_."

"A gift?"

Her lips curled to a warped smile. "Yes… it was the first time that I had the chance to be alone with him for years, and though I felt his pain with him, I could at the same time barely believe my luck. Remus was mad with grief; he was exhausted to the bones, incredibly vulnerable - and getting increasingly drunk. Therefore I collected all my courage, threw all reason to the winds and decided to make good use of the chance I was so unexpectedly given."

"And did what?"

"I should think that was pretty obvious." She stared at him, her eyes filled with self-loathing and dark irony. "I lured him into my bed. I stole a night with him and honestly believed that this was the beginning of a new life."

"Which was ridiculously romantic and totally misled, I presume."

"Absolutely," she replied. "I wish I had finally seen reason then… though the next morning should really have been sobering enough. He woke up with an enormous hangover, absolutely horrified at the realization of what had happened. He apologized to me; he'd had enough cheap Bordeaux not to clearly remember who had made the first step. There was no romantic breakfast of new-found lovers, no vows of never-ending fidelity. Instead I found myself alone between crumpled sheets, staring at the cloak he'd left behind in his haste."

He gave a snort of disdain.

"And this is the reason why you thought you betrayed him?" he asked incredulously. "A heedless romp as an overstrung youth made you bury yourself in St. Mary Green and sacrifice any shining opportunities you might have had - for Remus' child?"

"No." Ruta clenched her fist. "That's not the end of the story… I didn't learn my lesson. I refused to acknowledge that the whole thing had been a sad mistake, born of a too long suppressed desire and too much wine. My mother had died not too long before, and the death of Lily and James – and of so many others I knew - only added to the feeling that I had lost the ground beneath my feet. I clung to the notion that Remus would be my sheet anchor… and that I would be his. I was so… so _obsessed_ with a true love I had been dreaming of for years and against all reason that I fervently kept praying that fate might tip the scales for me… I desperately hoped I might perhaps be pregnant."

She gave a short, sharp laugh.

"When I realized that I was not, I found myself unable to bear the miserable failure of my poor plan. I sent Remus an owl, telling him that I was carrying his baby."

He stared at her.

"You did… my _goodness_. What did you think you would gain with such an idiotic cheat?"

"His heart." Her voice was thin and clear. "Believe it or not, I actually thought I could bind him to me. I knew he was a kind, responsible man, and that he honestly cared for me. I knew he would rather marry me than to leave me in the lurch with a child. I thought… for heaven's sake, I was _insane!"_She swallowed laboriously. "I know this is no excuse for what I did."

"How very true. How far did you carry this pitiable charade?"

"I finally came to my senses and stopped the whole thing before it got completely out of control and any member of our family could find out about the 'happy secret'. But after… after defrauding him for weeks I was still too gutless to show him the real depth of my betrayal. Instead of finally being honest, I made up the story of a miscarriage. I enacted a drama of noble sacrifice and resignation and told him that he was free of all responsibilities in this matter… you are absolutely right, it was pitiable."

Ruta closed her eyes, her face a mask of bitter sorrow.

"I was such a selfish little _fool_. Instead of releasing him in earnest, I burdened him with a guilt he should never have carried on his shoulders. And I destroyed what we had, abandoning a rare, precious friendship for the chimera of a love that was never meant to be."

He kept his silence, his thoughts following the trace of this utterly miserable, ridiculous tale, back to a careless, desperate girl of twenty who had tried to enforce the dream of her life against all odds. He had not known her then, but he remembered all too clearly what he had been doing while she had entangled herself and her cousin with her long suppressed love and hope, blind and deaf against all better reason. _Well, this at least was something he definitely understood all too well… the frenzied self-hate, the dolorous self-reproach, the staggering realization that some things could never be put to rights again._

For a fleeting second he caught himself looking back at the man he had once been… the man who would never have listened to her, the man who would never have allowed himself to feel or to honestly care, save for that hidden obsession deep in his walled heart, the one gossamer-thin thread of devotion that had kept him from completely turning into stone.

"Did you ever tell him the truth?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I did… but it took me years to muster the courage." She gave a shuddering sigh. "Much too late, of course."

Seeker slowly shook his head.

"Maybe late, Ruta – but not too late." He was surprised at the gentleness of his own voice. "When you finally decided to make a clean sweep, he was still there to listen. Not all repentant malefactors are that lucky."

She didn't answer, and for the first time he noticed that she was very pale, swaying slightly on increasingly weak legs.

"You have had enough exercise and fresh air for one day," he firmly declared, "and enough drama to boot. I wouldn't recommend that you walk yet another mile. I take it that you're unable to fully use your wand arm yet?"

Ruta nodded wordlessly. _She was at the end of her rope indeed_.

Without further preface he let his own wand slip out of his sleeve and pulled her close; he could feel the fingers of her uninjured hand, finding his left in a hesitant grip. He focused on the spell, picturing their destination in his mind... and with a start he realized that he was actually holding her in his arms for the very first time. Her hair tickled his cheek, and for the fraction of a second he nearly forgot the reason why she was leaning against him. The closeness of her body was an assault on his senses, disturbing and thrilling at the same time. _She smells of grass and roses_, he thought, still struggling with his own, surprising reaction. Their eyes met, and her gaze held his… and then the magic pulled at him with irresistible power and swept them both away.


	13. Night of Change

Chapter Twelve  
**Night Of Change**

_The room was white and scantily furnished; there was only an old-fashioned commode in the corner, and a huge, iron bed frame, covered with a mattress, a neatly folded white quilt and a thick pillow. The only window Ruta could discern was high and small, hidden behind a thin curtain, the fabric marked only by the dark, regular shadows of the ironwork behind it. The door looked solid enough to keep even a gang of angry giants out. The walls were marred, and Ruta didn't dare to ask if the fine notches and cracks had been caused by fists, claws… or teeth._

_"You must understand, Miss Lupin, that your case is very special." William Pemberthy, the Mediwizard in charge – a tall man with a haggard face and a military-looking, white crew cut - tried to avoid her gaze; she could sense his discomfort and embarrassment like a stale, sickly aroma in the air around them. "We don't know if being bitten by a werewolf who could change without the full moon might have altered the symptoms of the curse in your case, and if that werewolf was as powerful and depraved as Fenrir Greyback, of course the usual precautions are insufficient."_

_"Which means what, exactly?" With faint amusement she realized that Stephen Seeker's brusque dislike of dancing wordily around an unpleasant topic had obviously rubbed off on her._

_"We have to protect our staff… and you, of course." Now their eyes met, and the mixture of pity and anxious distrust that she saw made Ruta's blood run cold. "Therefore we cannot permit you to walk around freely in this ward." A flick of his wand produced a large parchment roll, hovering in front of him; he studied it with narrowed eyes. "Well… the last full moon ended on August 24th… which would mean that the next full moon begins on September 21st. We'll have to restrict your presence at St. Mungo's to this room for the next three weeks."_

_"Three weeks?" It took all her self-command to keep the dismay and helpless rage she felt out of her voice. "That would make me a prisoner, wouldn't it?"_

_"Oh... but you shouldn't see it that way." The Mediwizard cleared his throat. "It's nothing more but a simple… erh… precaution. We shall also have to retain control of your wand, lest you forget yourself enough to use it against somebody else."_

_"How very considerate of you." She knew that her irony was completely wasted on the man, but for the second time within minutes she was reminded of Stephen's sharp wit and tongue, and somehow that memory eased the bitter pressure on her heart._

_Ruta did her best to endure the white emptiness of her room with stoicism. She received three letters from her father; Andromeda had taken it upon her to inform him of the newest development in the tragic Lupin family history (a fact Ruta was infinitely grateful for), but the comfort she hoped to find in those letters had a strangely hollow, dissatisfactory taste. He offered to come and see her, but Ruta decided against it; his health wasn't what it used to be, and her mortifying confinement would certainly be a shock for the old wizard; after half a dozen fruitless attempts she finally managed a reply that was hopefully reassuring and humorous enough to keep him away. Harry showed up once for a brief visit, though; he was clearly horrified by her accommodations. She did her best to console him, but the dismay in his eyes was a mere echo of her own._

_The visits from Lottie Stanhope were much easier to bear. She'd been the Healer sent by Kingsley Shacklebolt, to care for Ruta on the first night after the attack - a pudgy, grey-haired woman with bright, friendly eyes. The elderly witch came nearly every day – blithely dismissing William Pemberthy's recital of the "no contamination" rules within Ruta's hearing, much to the younger Mediwizard's chagrin. "Pish-tosh, Pemberthy, there's no use reading me the rules when I'm the one who wrote them. I've come up against much tougher nuts than a reluctant werewolf, you know, no matter what phase of the moon."_

_It was Lottie who continued to tend the slowly healing wounds, and Lottie who brightened Ruta's cell with the addition of a pile of brightly colored cushions for the bed. Since a visit in the library was completely out of question, Lottie was the one to supply Ruta with books she deemed interesting, a highly welcome distraction from the dull routine of the sneaking hours. Ruta delved hungrily into a colorful mixture of medical texts, essays on historical wars against goblins and giants and some wildly romantic novels, thick enough to fill her empty days (and which she highly suspected came from Lottie's personal shelves). One morning at the beginning of September, Miss Stanhope showed up with a chessboard and bewitched an extra chair to go beside the table that would normally only appear dutifully at mealtimes. The lovely ivory and ebony pawns performed the ritual dance of Rooks and Kings on the board while Ruta listened halfheartedly to her visitor's tales about the students at the Academy and the comical mishaps of Healers and patients at the hospital. Her mind wandered longingly back to St. Mary Green; she wondered if she would ever sit opposite of Stephen again, playing the Game of Kings and joyfully claiming one of her rare, hard-won victories._

_Time crawled along, day by day by day… and then the last week before the new full moon shrunk to a few remaining hours. Ruta sat on the last remaining chair, holding one of Lottie's colored cushions close to her chest, like a feeble shield; she watched William Pemberthy as he maneuvered pillow, blanket and sheets from the bed, using his wand and a few, quick spells. Now only the naked mattress was left, and he turned to her._

_"Within the next half an hour your supper will be served, Miss Lupin," he said, his voice cool and impersonal. "After you've finished it will be necessary for you to lie down on the bed. You'll have to be bound, to prevent you from hurting yourself or anyone else."_

_Ruta felt as if a giant fist was closing around her throat. "Do you mean to tell me that I have to lie there for the rest of the day, chained against the frame of that bed like some savage beast – even though I haven't turned yet – and wait for the change to come?" The sound of her voice was calm, which was amazing enough, for a small, desperate being deep inside of her heart longed to scream, to run and to bang its fists against the door until they were bleeding._

_"Exactly," he said. "But as I told you when you came here…"_

_"It's only a precaution, I know," she said, still desperately struggling to keep her outrage under control. "But it is a poor way to handle someone who is no more than a victim."_

_"We have no choice," he said. "We can't tolerate the damage you might do as a beast, victim or not."_

_He kept a careful distance, but her heightened senses – sharpened even more, now that the full moon was so very close - made his body odor fill her nostrils like an overwhelming mixture of smells. Ruta could scent the lavender soap he must have used this morning, the starch in the fabric of his freshly ironed robe, but also the thin film of sweat on his brow and neck, bearing witness to the loathing and fear he was hiding under the composed surface. And something else that went even deeper, something dark, cankered like rusty iron. Suddenly she understood with great clarity._

_"You know, I should advise Kingsley Shacklebolt to dismiss you from this case," she said softly. "Perhaps this humiliating procedure is necessary, but it should not be carried out by someone who hates werewolves as much as you do."_

_Pemberthy made a step back, his face hardening._

_"I don't think that you're in a position to make demands," he said._

_"You'd best not be too sure about that," she retorted. "Do you really want me to mention your obvious aversion to the Minister of Magic?"_

_The Mediwizard paled. "You won't have the chance." It was merely more than a hiss._

_"Maybe I won't have the chance to tell Shacklebolt about it, but I shall have no difficulty in informing Harry Potter, and the Minister certainly does listen to _him_," she fired back, for the moment heedless of the consequences. "And since my… my upcoming change is doubtlessly to be supervised, I want Lottie Stanhope to do it, and not you."_

_"Lottie Stanhope!" He stared at her in disbelief. "But she…"_

_"She helped dress my wounds the night of Greyback's attack," Ruta said. "She has visited me during the last weeks whenever she was able, and I have reason to suspect that she honestly cares for my well-being. And as a teacher for Magical Diseases at the Academy for Healing Arts she might find this… instructive." She swallowed, but managed to keep her face unmoving while he veered away with a swirl of his lime green robe and sailed out of the room._

_Supper appeared on the table a few minutes later, and Ruta gulped down a few spoonfuls of soup and a small portion of the spaghetti, just to fill her stomach. Shortly afterwards tray, table and chair vanished, and she lay down on the bed without resistance, suppressing a wince when chains rose from the sides of the bed frame, and iron bonds closed around her wrists and ankles. She closed her eyes, blocking out any thought that kept her rooted in her body. Images wandered past her mind, colorful miniatures of her sun-warmed garden, of rose bushes in bloom, of Teddy's smiling face and the tall figure of a man, his hands expressive, his eyes black as onyx and his voice deep and forceful._

Stephen…

_She must have been dozed off for a while, but suddenly she was wide awake, turning her face to the door; blurred figures were moving behind the small inspection window. The lights were dimmed, the room filled with shadows, but then the curtains above her that had been closed all the time slowly slid aside. Silvery light washed the room, making her blink. She found herself unable to turn her head away, her gaze on the luminary that ruled her fate; the sudden, terrifying brightness was seeping through her skin and into her veins. Finally she closed her eyes, but the moon blazed behind her eyelids like twin coins of icy silver. It burnt her with cold fire, and she could feel its power throbbing in her ears._

_And with the dreaded presence of the full moon came the pain, slim tendrils of unpleasantness at first, winding around her limbs and clenching her ribcage… and then getting stronger every moment as the change intensified its grip. She noticed in panicking disbelief how her arms and legs morphed to a different form, bones, sinews and flesh screaming their protest with dolorous agony. She bucked and writhed on the bed, safely held by the chains, thrashing her head in helpless denial… and finally her first, frightened howl as a wolf reverberated within a skull that had lost its semblance to any human form..._

_..."Merlin - !"_

Ruta rocketed up in her bed, hair and nightgown damp with cold sweat. The room around her was dark, dying embers smoldering on the grate of the fireplace. _No white walls, no iron pillory of a bed, no smell of hopelessness in the air._ This was her house, her shelter, and the merciless eyes of William Pemberthy were nothing but a memory, however disturbing. And a warning… he was not the first and he would certainly not be the last to regard her with fear and repulsion.

She got up and walked over to the chest of drawers. A folded cloth hung over the rim of the half-full washstand pitcher; she dipped it into the rose-scented water, wrung it out and slowly ran it over her face, deeply inhaling the gentle aroma.

Those three weeks in the white room in London, finally culminating in those three, nightmarish days that she had spent chained against the bed, had only been the beginning. She had no choice - the next change would happen as inevitably as the next full moon… and even one fleeting moment of feral madness like this was more than she could bear to think about.

But no… that was not true. There was a choice she could make, a person she could to turn to.

Ruta stepped over to the window, pulled the curtain aside and pushed it open. The cold, fresh breeze blew the hair back off of her face and made her nightgown flutter while she listened to the echo of Neville's voice in her mind.

_For now you should simply not forget that he's one of the very few people who are able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion at all, and I'll bet my annual salary that if you want his help, all you have to do is to ask._

He was right, of course. _And still_, Ruta thought, staring out with blind eyes at the silent road, _after all the danger "Stephen Seeker" had already gone through for her sake, she was not sure if she was willing to burden him with even more. _

vvvvv

The next morning was rainy and grey water splashed around Stephen Seeker's boots as he opened Ruta's garden gate. The white roses near the wall had lost most of their last petals; the bushes needed to be clipped, and he felt his lips twist in a grimace when he remembered that the woman who would normally have done so with ease was now unable to manage even the small garden tasks that had been her joy. He passed the dripping branches of the willow and reached out to knock.

First nothing happened. Then he heard the sudden noise of smashing porcelain from inside, and something that sounded suspiciously like a particularly juicy example of strong language.

"Ruta?" he called. "It's me, Stephen. Are you well?"

"Stephen?" The warm alto voice had a disquietingly sharp and angry undertone. "I just … I just can't… ah well, do come in."

He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. The vestibule was empty, but when he reached the kitchen, he was greeted by the astonishing sight of Ruta Lupin, clad in a dark green wizard robe, her long hair unkempt and her feet bare. Shards glittered on the stone floor; he spotted an unharmed lid with delicate ornaments and flowers, and managed just in time to avoid stepping on the largest fragment, a beautifully swung handle.

"Best you should stay exactly where you are until I have removed this mess into the rubbish bin," he dryly remarked, "or you'll cut your feet."

_"Not_ into the rubbish bin!" Ruta blurted out. "That was my Spode coffee pot, for heaven's sake, but I left my wand on the sideboard, and even if I could reach it right now, I would be unable to use it as I should." Her voice faltered dangerously, and she bit her lip. "I'm sorry… but that pot was the first piece of tableware I ever managed to cast a complicated spell on that really worked – it is a famous Muggle design I really like, and I was able to bespell it to brew an excellent batch of coffee – not as excellent as Winky's of course - and…"

She noticed his patient gaze and gave a short, desperate laugh.

"Forgive me, I know I'm babbling. I'm… I'm simply not used to being unable to cope with things myself."

"Only too understandable," Seeker replied. He raised his wand. _"Reparo!"_

The shards rose in a flurry of blue and white from the tiles and formed a lovely coffee pot, decorated with a classical painting of an idyllic landscape. It landed gently on a wooden sideboard.

"There," he said. "Now you should be able to walk through your kitchen without doing any damage to yourself."

"Thank you." Ruta took a deep breath. "I guess in my situation I should invest in some cheap pottery."

Suddenly she sat down heavily on the chair beside the table. She didn't look at him, but when she spoke again, her voice was soft and very tired.

"I have always managed to live on my own very well. I'm a very organized person. I had my work, I had Andromeda and Teddy, and I've always loved what I was doing. Now I can barely wash myself, let alone cast a cleaning spell on my belongings. My right hand is lame, and I'm unspeakably clumsy with my left when it comes to using my wand. I needed a quarter on an hour this morning to get into a simple robe; my usual blouse and skirt are totally out of question, I have no idea how to handle all those buttons. Thank Goodness Dromeda promised me to come over after lunch… my hair looks like a bird's nest, and I normally need both hands to brush and braid it."

She shot him a side glance, her face suddenly flushed with shame.

"This must sound to you like the fussing of a silly child. And you must be tired of listening to my constant, ridiculous complaints. I'm terribly sorry."

He never knew later why he said the next words, but they came out of his mouth before his mind had the chance to invoke prudence and reason.

"I must admit my experience is rather limited when it comes to hairdressing, but I could give it a try, if you'd like."

Ruta raised her head.

"You could… _oh."_ Her shoulders slumped, and he saw the hands in her lap flex convulsively. "You don't have to. I told you it was silly."

"I know that I don't have to," Seeker placidly replied. "But now that I no longer have to deal with an entire schoolfull of silly children you should expect a softer moment from me now and then, and this is apparently one of them. Cherish it while it lasts."

He stepped behind her, critically examining the long and tousled strands.

"I'll need a brush."

"Well, if you really... Over there, on the sideboard."

Right next to Ruta's willow wand he found a brush and a comb, both backed with old and beautiful hand-crafted silver, engraved with ivy tendrils and delicate, four-leaved flowers. _Rue_, he thought, his well-trained mind automatically coming up with the correct, botanical name. _Ruta graveolens_. She noticed his surprised gaze and looked up at him, the hint of a smile in her eyes.

"They are heirlooms; my grandmother received them as a wedding gift from my grandfather, and we share the same name." Her smile deepened. "But they and the _Spode_ pot are the only truly precious items in my household, I fear."

After a second of hesitation Stephen Seeker reached out and touched her hair. He lifted it from the back of her neck, running the brush through the disheveled mass that slowly untangled under his long, gentle strokes. Ruta didn't speak, but he could feel her body palpably relax under his ministrations. He didn't speak either, strangely absorbed by this new and unfamiliar task, and after a first pang of unease he realized that he actually enjoyed the procedure at least as much as she did. The only sound in the silent kitchen was the soft swishing of the brush. The slow rhythm of his own hands nearly lulled him into a peaceful daze.

After a few minutes her hair was smooth and shining, and he spread it on her shoulders. It felt warm and vivid against his palms, and he stared down at it for a small eternity before he parted it in three equal tresses and began to braid them into a thick plait.

_Left strand over the middle one, right strand… left strand over the middle one again, right strand… _

…he had always dreamt of braiding Lily's hair that way, but there'd never been the chance to do so. They had been very close before he crushed their friendship with his arrogance and helpless hate, but they had never been close enough to share a moment like _this…_

_…left strand over the middle one, right strand… left strand again…_

…for a fleeting second his fingertips grazed her neck. Ruta's face, arms and hands were still tanned from spending most of her time during the summer in fresh air, but here the skin was white and velvet-soft...

_…right strand over the middle one, left strand… right strand again…_

…his eyes followed the graceful line where the neck merged into her shoulders. He knew he only needed to lean in just a little bit to see the neckline of her green robe and the gentle curves of her breasts…

_…left strand over the middle one, right strand, left strand over the middle one again… _

Suddenly Ruta let herself sink into his touch and gave a small sound from deep in her throat, like the purring of a very satisfied cat.

"You should consider changing your profession," she murmured. The sharp tension that had alarmed him earlier had completely vanished from her voice, and the warm, vibrating tone sent a violent shudder through his entire body. Instinctively he took half a step back.

"You forget that I don't have any profession right now," he retorted, struggling to regain control over a multitude of nerves that had been out of service for more years than he dared to count.

"Which will certainly change some day," she said, straightening her back and rising from her chair. She turned around to him; he could see a single, fine strand that had escaped his attention, and to his dismay he had to fight the strong impulse to take it between his fingers and push it back behind her ear. "Thank you… that was both gentle and kind. And now I have to ask another favor from you… a far greater one."

Her voice was calm and clear.

"You are able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, and I need it. The next full moon is coming, and I don't want to face it. I don't want to lose myself again. Not like..." She shuddered, biting her lip. "… not like the first time."

"That is why I am here," he answered. "I came to Berwick two days ago, to offer my assistance. But I missed you, and when we finally met, our conversation took a completely… different direction."

Suddenly Ruta laughed.

"That's a very considerate way to put it," she said, "especially after I made such a fool of myself in your presence."

"There is something else," he continued, secretly glad that his nerves, his mind and body had slowly returned to behaving decently again; the serious issue worked wonders to clear his head. "I fear running two households at the same time would mean asking too much of Mrs. Tonks. And I can see that you would benefit from some additional assistance during your recovery. As soon as I have returned home again, I mean to send you Winky."

"Winky?" She shook her head. "Do you really think you can spare her service… and would she agree?"

"I can hardly imagine she'll object," he remarked. "And to be honest - I think she will be delighted. Since you gave her the earrings, she worships the ground beneath your feet. And besides… she loves nothing better than providing service. My needs are not so complicated, and I think she has already found every thing in my house that is possible to polish."

"I don't know what to say." She looked at him, her face full of unveiled relief. "Only that I don't know what I would do without you. You're incredibly generous, Stephen."

"I'm simply trying to help as best as I can," he said, his tone brusque. "And now I have to leave. Winky will be here in a few minutes… I take it that you have not had breakfast yet?"

"Yes."

"Then you should allow her to brew the coffee you like so much, and to plunder your pantry… and mine, if necessary. She will take over as long as your wounds are healing, and she will also be a great help while the moon is full. I shall be occupied with brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, but she'll deliver it every morning, and watch over you while you are changed. That is hardly a task for Andromeda Tonks."

Her lips twitched. "Only too true."

"Well, then. Have a nice day, Ruta. Winky should make things much easier for you."

"She certainly will. - Stephen?"

Suddenly she stood in front of him; she reached out and took his hand. Her touch made his skin tingle, he could sense the warmth radiating from her body, and the faint aroma, rising from her hair. Grass and roses, he thought, and then her face was very close, and her lips touched his cheek. His heart missed a beat, but before he could react, she had already stepped back.

"Good bye, Stephen. And… thank you."

"Good bye, Ruta."

He hastily turned away and left the house, walking with fast steps. The willow and the withered roses rushed past him in a green and white haze, and then he closed the garden gate behind him and stood on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. He looked down at his hands; his fingers were trembling.

_For sanity's sake – for _Ruta's_ sake, he had to keep away from her and come back to his senses. The last thing she needed right now was a friend, hungering for something far beyond friendship… something he had no right to desire. _

vvvvv

Winky arrived barely ten minutes after Stephen had left, and from that moment on Ruta literally didn't need to lift a finger anymore. After the first twenty-four hours the unfamiliar presence of a house-elf felt rather _odd_, after forty-eight hours Ruta had decided to forbid Winky to cook meals big enough to feed _three_ eaters instead of one, and after two more days she honestly wondered how she had managed to survive without her until now.

Every morning she awoke to the rich aroma of Winky's marvelous, freshly brewed coffee; the elf had found out that she loved croissants, and so they appeared on her breakfast table every day, warm and crisp, with a pot of creamy butter and small glass bowls with honey and strawberry marmalade to dip them in. The neglected garden was put to rights again; the last, withered rose blossoms vanished overnight and the bushes were neatly clipped and prepared for their long winter's sleep. The clothes Ruta had been unable to wear since that fateful evening didn't pose a problem any longer, and Winky scrupulously supervised the therapeutic exercises that Ruta had been prescribed at St. Mungo's in the hopes that she might regain some of the lost strength and flexibility in her right arm.

After three days Winky brought the first small flask of Wolfsbane Potion; it was every bit as horrible as Remus had told her, but Ruta swallowed the steaming fluid with honest gratitude, together with a surprisingly strong feeling of disappointment that Stephen hadn't bothered to deliver the protective draught in person. _He said he would be busy_, she sternly told herself. _And he probably needs a break, after all that drama you dragged him into._

The following days she faithfully continued taking the Potion, but still Stephen kept away, and a discomforting mixture of pride and embarrassment barred Ruta from calling on him. Instead she tried to give the broken routine of her days a new rhythm. She used the mornings to rereading the books on her shelves that had been neglected for years, and in the afternoons she took long walks through the village and the valley. The people from St. Mary Green met her with great kindness and sympathy… which was probably a result of the story Andromeda Tonks had skillfully spread through her weekly tea circle. The villagers thought it was the aftermath of a severe accident during a visit in London that kept Ruta at home; that a careless driver in a skidding car had been the cause of her serious injuries. Ruta caught herself more than once wishing that the tale Dromeda had told her gossipy friends was the truth.

In the evenings she went to visit Teddy and his grandmother; she had dinner with both of them and then read Teddy the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_; one more time she opened the book at the first page, beginning with _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_, though she knew that _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ was her nephew's favorite. On the last evening before the turn of the moon she skipped the pages with _The Warlock's Hairy Heart_ – a dark, cruel story Ruta had always heartily detested – and read _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ once again. Ruta smiled, remembering that Teddy had often asked her to leave out "all that boring, romantic stuff" when he was younger, but this evening he didn't seemed to mind:

_"Amata knew the treasure that burdened her heart. She knew she had to abandon it, to grant them all passage across the river. She saw Asha sigh and Altheda frown, and she saw the dark, troubled eyes of Sir Luckless. His gaze held hers, and she discovered the faint shadow of an encouraging smile. And so she lifted her wand, and the memory of her lover, cherished and preserved far too long, rose in a silvery mist from her temple and floated down to the water._

_"Well done, Mylady Amata," Sir Luckless whispered. "Well done."_

_With disbelieving joy she saw stepping stones rise out of the stream; he gallantly took her hand and led her across the water, Asha and Altheda in their wake…"_

Ruta closed the book and saw that Teddy had fallen asleep. For a long moment she sat completely still, her mind filled with the memory of a man's hands in her hair.

_I'm simply trying to help as best as I can._

She sighed, leaned in and kissed the boy's cheek, letting his childlike scent of milk, clean skin and soap enfold her like a sweet-smelling cloud. Then she rose from the bed, tiptoed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

vvvvv

The next morning Winky brought not one flask but two.

"Master says this is a light sleeping draught," the house-elf explained. "Master thinks Miss might want to take it before moonrise, because he is concerned about the violent side effects of the change on your wounds, and this draught will ease the transition."

"How very considerate." Ruta said, slipping the second flask into the pocket of her dressing gown and reaching out for the steaming mug with the Wolfsbane Potion. She emptied the mug and wiped her mouth.

"Thank you, Winky. You may go home now, if you like… I don't think I'll need you for the rest of the day." She smiled. "Your Master might feel a bit neglected."

"Master _insists_ that I should be here," Winky returned, folding both arms in front of her chest. The heart-shaped studs in her flapping ears flashed with provocation.

"And I insist that you return home," Ruta firmly said, deliberately softening her tone when she saw Winky's hurt and miserable gaze. "You were a marvel all this time, really… I simply need a day on my own. You may come back shortly before sundown if you like. In fact, I would appreciate it."

The house-elf gave her a beaming smile.

"Winky will be back in time," she eagerly assured Ruta. "And Winky will take care that Miss is safe in her house until the full moon is over."

Five minutes later she disappeared. Winky's presence had been a blessing, but Ruta honestly enjoyed being alone, and it had been hard to explain that to the house-elf. To pass the hours, she decided to take a long walk up the path that led to Bléa Tarn. She spent the rest of the morning and most part of the afternoon at the bank of the lake; the tourists were gone, the air was crisp and crystal clear, and for a few, precious hours the silent landscape, reflected in the clear, blue mirror of the water, was a sanctuary she didn't have to share.

She returned to the village when the sun was sinking towards the horizon. She entered her house, got rid of the Muggle clothing and slipped into her dressing gown while the light turned to a deep red, with fiery, thin rays working their way through the scattered clouds in the west.

Her hand found the small flask in the pocket. She uncorked it and smelled the sharp-sweet scent; her heightened senses were easily able to identify the ingredients. Mostly valerian, and a whiff of poppy… it would probably only make her drowsy and sluggish, just enough to dampen the horrifying sensation of the change. On the kitchen table she found a tray with a fresh chicken sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice. She ate with surprising appetite and – after a second of hesitation – washed down the sleeping draught with the last of the juice. Then she went up the steps into her bedroom, closed the door and locked it from inside.

Sunset was no more than a glowing memory behind the shingled roofs and gables on the other side of Tulip Close. She gazed down on the street… and suddenly beheld the familiar, silent figure of a man, all clad in black, his pale face turned upwards to her window.

_He was there. _

She raised her hand, filled with disbelieving joy. For a careless second she wanted to push up the window, wanted to call his name… but now a heavy sleepiness wove a fine web around her limbs and slowly began to cloud her head. _The draught is beginning to work._ The sky outside had turned dark, and a strong wind chased the clouds away from the glorious lamp of the moon. Pure silver brightness washed over her; she turned her eyes to the light reigning over her blood, and her knees buckled beneath her.

With a last, conscious effort she tried to cling to the windowsill, but she had no hands to close around it. She caught a glimpse of fingers that were shrinking and turning into paws, and for the second time her mind desperately revolted against the impossible sensation of fur, breaking through her skin and covering her entire body while the moon circled in her veins like cold fire.

Somewhere in the distance there was a shrill, thin scream, turning into a long-drawn-out howl. And then _nothing…_

… nothing but impenetrable silence.

**Author's Notes:**

The _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ actually exist as books; they are hand-written (by Mrs. Rowling herself), and only one copy from a total of seven was sold in an auction (to _amazon_). Folks over there were friendly enough to provide summaries of the fairy tales that are not mentioned in the Harry-Potter-series, but not the full text; so I took the freedom to create my own version of _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ for this and the next chapter.


	14. The Fair Fortune

Chapter Thirteen  
**The Fair Fortune**

Stephen Seeker knew that this was a mistake.

He had barred himself with an iron will from seeing Ruta Lupin after the Wolfsbane Potion was brewed. He had sent Winky instead, absolutely certain that this was the only way of keeping a fragile hold on the peace of mind which had been so thoroughly disturbed during their last encounter.

But now he stood in front of her house, the light of the full moon cascading down from a clear, cold, cloudless sky, and calling himself a witless fool. Still he walked through the dew-damp garden to the door. There was no need to use any charm; Winky let him in before he could even raise his wand.

"Miss is upstairs in her bedroom," she said. "She has been asleep most of the last three days. I have brought her water and something to eat; she has been thirsty, but the food has not been touched."

Her voice was even higher and squeakier than usual; the huge, pale eyes were red-rimmed. They went through the vestibule and into the kitchen together, where Winky immediately busied herself with piling used mugs and plates from a tray, and carrying them over to the sink. Her hands were shaking badly, and suddenly the topmost mug overbalanced, toppled into the sink and crashed to pieces. Winky gave a shrill scream, and only a quick gesture from Seeker's wand kept the rest of the porcelain from shattering, too. His hand closed around the house-elf's elbow while the crockery settled gently on the table again. His gaze was stern.

"How many hours did you sleep during the last forty-eight hours?"

Winky raised a trembling chin.

"Winky didn't sleep. Master told Winky to watch over Miss, and watching she did. How could she disobey his order? Winky wants Miss to be safe, Winky wants…"

_"Stop."_ He turned her around until they stood face to face. "Master wants you to take a nap. Well, a whole series of naps." His gaze wandered through the kitchen and found a box with coffee powder, the lid half open. Almost two thirds of the content was gone. "How much of your own brew did you consume, for heaven's sake?"

"Oh…" Winky blinked nervously. "A pot each day – or two perhaps. Just to stay awake and to do what Master wanted me to do."

"Three or four pots, more likely, given your state," he retorted, deliberately softening his tone. "You did a splendid job, Winky, but enough is enough. I'll take over now, while you return home and get as much sleep as you can. Understood?"

"But Miss did not eat," the house-elf complained querulously. "Winky cooked all of her favorite things, but she did not touch them. Then Winky made a bowl of nice, raw meat -- chicken and beef and egg, all together with a little salt and broth to make it taste good, and just a little bit of rosemary and thyme, but Miss did not eat that either. Winky can't go to sleep till Miss has been fed," the tiny cook wailed. "Miss will be hungry, she will get sick if she does not eat, but maybe Miss doesn't like Winky's cooking any more..."

He bit his tongue on a sharp retort, angry that Winky should have pestered Ruta to eat in the midst of the traumatic experience she was undergoing; incredulous that she could say 'Miss will get sick' as though Ruta weren't already in the grip of an incurable tragedy; irritated that he should have to deal with something as petty as hurt feelings when all his attention was focused on the room above. But the irritation faded as he looked at those reddened eyes.

He cared for this one, too, whose love and loyalty had literally brought him back from death, to begin this curious transformation from what he had been to whatever it was he was becoming now.

With a patience that would have astonished any of Severus Snape's students, Stephen Seeker looked down at the passionate, fussy, right now thoroughly irrational little creature and said, "Get some sleep, Winky. Ruta will be hungry when she wakes from the transition -- she will need you tomorrow, and we will both enjoy a good lunch. Boeuf Stroganov, perhaps, and a good coffee afterwards. Sleep now. I will watch over her."

"As Master wishes." She bowed deeply, trying to suppress a huge yawn, and one second later she vanished with a loud _Crack!_ He felt himself wince and instinctively gazed up at the ceiling, but aside from his own heartbeat there was no sound.

He returned to the vestibule and walked up the stairs. The corridor was dark; two doors opened to a bathroom and an empty guestroom, a third was closed and locked when he probed the handle.

Seeker stood silently in front of it, trying to make up his mind.

He could hardly imagine that Ruta would be pleased at the thought of him invading her hiding place while she was transfigured. But at the same time he felt the stubborn urge to find out if she were well – of course Winky had taken good care of her, but he wanted to know for sure.

He had to _see_ her.

_"Alohomora!"_

The door opened soundlessly, revealing another bedroom, awash with moonlight and this time clearly lived-in. The bed was covered with a patchwork quilt, done in soft tints of rosewood, brown and beige.

He was still standing in the doorway when he heard a low, soft growl from the right side of the room. He turned to see – and even though he had been prepared for this, he froze.

Beneath the window lay a wolf.

It was a big animal, though not nearly as enormous as Fenrir Greyback. The long, slender body was covered with short, anthracite fur, the shoulders and legs dappled with white spots. At the sight of him the wolf slowly rose to its feet, but it had obviously no intention of attacking him. It moved in his direction - not with the normal grace of a wild beast, but slowly and limping, and then he noticed the stiff right front leg, with prominent, angry red scars, winding down from the shoulder to the paw.

_There is no cure for the Werewolf Curse, of course, but the Wolfsbane Potion, when properly prepared, ameliorates the conditions. The werewolf changes physical form with the full moon, but retains both awareness and sanity. Given those benefits, the side effects of the potion – a lack of appetite and extreme drowsiness – are mere bagatelles._

To his surprise it was the lazy, drawling voice of Horace Slughorn in his head. _Pompous idiot_… though he was right, of course. With a loud, sarcastic snort he banished his former Potions teacher from his thoughts, and the wolf – despite all his knowledge and experience Seeker shied away from calling her Ruta – pricked up her ears.

"I am sorry," he said. "I know I shouldn't have come in. But I had to send Winky to bed, to keep her from falling apart. And I wanted to be sure that the potion shows the right effect."

The wolf whined softly, then slowly retired to her place beneath the window and lay down again with a throaty groan of palpable relief.

Again Seeker looked around, taking in more details of the room. The rosewood tone of the quilt was repeated on the walls, and the curtains were of a dark chocolate brown. A round carpet in faded shades of fawn, gold and a pale but still jubilant ruby red was the center of this refuge. The walls were covered with bookshelves, and interspersed with ample green potted plants on small wooden pedestals. It was a surprising mixture of bedroom and library.

He turned to the fireplace opposite the bed, and the deep, comfortable looking chair beside it.

"Would you object to a fire?"

The wolf gave no sign of disagreement, and so he knelt down on the floor and built a pile of apple wood logs from a small wicker basket.

_"Incendio!"_

Golden flames rose with a powerful roar, warming his face. A glint of metal on the mantelpiece caught his eye: a book, and seemingly a very special one. He took it, turned it in his hands and involuntarily held his breath. The book was bound in leather, darkened and softened by age. Precious silver embellishments decorated the cover, and in the center sat a small silver skull, with two shimmering moonstones in the eye sockets. It was an exquisite edition of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_; his mother had sometimes read the ancient fairy tales to him when he was still a child, but her copy had been a simple one, bound in cheap paperboard and already well-thumbed. This book was something else entirely, the precious heirloom of some ancient dynasty and worth a small fortune. If the Muggle coffee pot and the set of comb and brush were the only precious things in this house, it did most certainly not belong to Ruta. Perhaps it was one of Andromeda's possessions - she had a grandchild, young enough to cherish Beedle's legends, and she was a Black, after all.

Silver and gems flashed in the firelight. Under his hands, the pages fell open, revealing beautifully printed, old minuscule letters, and a fine bookmark, made of embroidered silk.

_"'The Fountain of Fair Fortune'"_ he murmured. It had never been Eileen Prince's favorite fairy tale, though he had liked it, at least whilst he still was a boy of Teddy's age. But the dolorous twists of his own fate had made him dismiss the gentle, hopeful moral of the simple story.

Suddenly he felt a cool touch against his hand. He looked up and saw that the wolf was standing in front of him, her bright, yellow eyes firmly fixed on the book.

"What is it?" He stared down at her. "What do you want me to do?"

Again the damp nose pushed gently against his fingers.

It was a remarkably silly idea… but there were quite a few hours ahead before the moon went down and the dawn began. And the chair felt very comfortable indeed.

"Are you sure you really want… oh, for heaven's sake, why not." Seeker sighed. "At least this place is private enough that I can make a fool of myself and stay undetected." He gave the wolf a stern gaze. "But I should warn you in advance that I've never been a good storyteller."

The wolf settled at his feet, head sinking down on her paws.

_"Once upon a time there was a wondrous garden at the far end of a magical kingdom, enclosed by a high wall and protected by powerful spells no wand was able to break. Every year, at the turning from winter to spring, the charms were lifted for one single day, and a slim crack opened in the wall, to let one single unfortunate pass and grant him a bath in the fountain, to win fair fortune forevermore…"_

The fire was burning bright enough for reading, and aside from the crackling of the flames the deep voice of the man in the chair was the only sound in the room. He read page after page, rediscovering a story he had desperately and against all evidence of reality loved as a small child. And he found himself getting increasingly engrossed with the ancient tale of three witches, seeking redemption and help: Asha, "sick of a malady no Healer could cure", Altheda, desperately craving to be released from poverty and betrayal, and Amata, still grieving for a lost love… all of them eagerly waiting with a vast crowd of fortune seekers for the right moment.

_"The first light of the wondrous day came, casting a faint, golden shine on the enchanted wall. 'Look!' Altheda cried. 'It is opening! Make haste, or we'll never be able to pass through in time!' Grey-green vines came creeping through the fresh crack amidst the stone, wrapping around Asha and pulling her inside. 'Watch out!' she yelled, getting hold of Altheda's wrist and dragging her along. Altheda whirled around, grabbing for Amata's sleeve. But while Amata was pulled off her feet, a knight in rusty armor stumbled out of the swarming crowd, and his iron-clad foot tangled in the hem of her long robe. With a scream they both bolted forward, scratching against the raw stone and finally tumbling in a heap on the lush lawn of the secret garden. And with a loud thunder the wall closed behind them."_

The tale led the party past the three challenges every wizard child knew by heart: the monstrous, white worm, bloated and blind, demanding the proof of their pain (and satisfied by Asha's tears); the steep mountain, only to be overcome by the fruit of their labors (the sweat on Altheda's brow while she was cheering on her companions on their way to the peak); and the treasures of their past (given through the sacrifice of Amata's bitter-sweet memories). It said how the witches helped each other without having to use the legendary fountain: Altheda, by brewing a healing draught for Asha, taking away her malady and proving to herself that she would be able to earn her living by using her skills and putting an end to her poverty. And finally Amata, realizing the falsity of her cruel and faithless lost lover and offering the knight in rusty armor, the brave Sir Luckless, the bath in the fountain she no longer needed.

_"Sir Luckless climbed out of the fountain, his face shining, water dripping from his armor. With a mighty clangor of battered iron he fell to Amata's feet. 'My lovely Lady Amata!' he exclaimed. 'You have restored my courage and my faith, and all I will ever need to be happy for the rest of my life is your heart and your hand.' And Amata looked down at this brave man, finally understanding that he had indeed proven to be worthy of her. She laughed, her eyes alight with wonder and joy. 'I gladly grant you both, my dear Sir Luckless,' she said, "and now we will have to find you a new name, for we shall live happily together forevermore.'"_

Stephen Seeker carefully closed the book and put it back on the mantelpiece. Then he settled in the chair again, staring down at the wolf. After a moment of hesitation he reached out and gently touched her. The fur felt surprisingly soft under his palm.

"Ruta." It was a nearly inaudible whisper.

The wolf raised her head, looking at him, the massive head following the movement of his fingers as they were drawn back. Behind them the flames sank down in the fireplace, fine wisps of smoke curling towards the chimney. A sudden gush of wind stole through the cracks in the window frame and billowed the heavy curtains. Yellow eyes stared up at the man leaning forward in the chair, and black eyes returned the gaze unblinking, finally blinded by the truth they had so long denied themselves to see.

_"Ruta." _

vvvvv

He woke up with a start. Faint light was trickling through the closed curtains; his neck felt stiff and sore. He sat up, instinctively searching for the silent figure of the she-wolf at his feet.

The wolf was gone. On the carpet lay Ruta, sound asleep, her head on folded arms, her unbound hair covering most of her bare shoulders and back. His fatigue had made him miss the transformation, and her own exhaustion had kept her from rising in time to avoid being found like this.

For a few moments he was at a loss for what to do next. Sneak out and leave her behind, unaware of his presence? Get a blanket to cover her, in case she might wake up, to spare them both the embarrassment? Finally he made up his mind, lifted her gently and carried her over to the untouched bed. He managed to pull back the counterpane and duvet with one hand and carefully laid her down on the sheets, covering her with the quilt.

He straightened his back, looking down at her – the face, relaxed in deep slumber, the strained lines of pain and endurance wiped out, smooth and pale like marble.

He looked at her hair - the soft, hazelnut waves, spreading on the pillow like an astonishingly thick cloak of silk. He vividly remembered how the long, shining locks had felt when he braided them a week ago.

He knew he should leave; but somehow he didn't manage to turn away. Instead he found himself leaning back in, watching his own hand with a kind of odd detachment as it reached out and touched her, touched the hair, cautiously talking a fine strand between thumb and forefinger. Then, still very slowly and hesitantly, his hand moved to her head, very gently stroking the forehead, the temple and finally the cheek.

He knew he had to go… quickly, before she woke up. But in the tiny moment before he could draw back his hand and break the contact, she opened her eyes.

Her gaze immediately met his, clouded by drowsiness and then, all of a sudden, wide awake. There could be no mistaking the situation; he was still leaning over her, his palm still cupping her face, and she had to be aware of the fact that her body under the duvet was completely naked.

_The villain, clad in sinister black, prepared to take advantage of the helpless maiden._ The cliché was trite enough to make his lips twitch, despite the sudden, bone-deep fear, cramping like a fist around his heart: that this small gesture might destroy whatever they had gained. He had repressed this hunger almost completely for more than two decades, because the woman he'd been craving for all those years was lost, a bittersweet, haunting dream, strong enough to keep him focused on his task to guard her son, but unable to quench the physical need he'd learned to deny himself.

"Stephen."

It was barely more than a whisper, and he was close enough to feel it like a warm breeze on his skin. Suddenly her face relaxed in a smile, and he could see his twin reflection mirrored in her eyes. Her good hand came up from the duvet and covered his, and without thinking he turned his palm until their fingers entwined.

_"Stephen…"_

No blame in her voice, no sudden fright. With disbelief and wonder he realized that instead of the angry refusal he had taken for granted, there was only a joyful welcome. She made an effort to prop up on the injured arm; instinctively he reached out, supporting her before the weakened muscles could slacken, and now he sat on the edge of the bed, holding her in a loose embrace.

He could feel the ridged scar directly beneath her shoulder and shifted slightly, moving his hand away from the injury and closing it around the back of her neck. His thumb found her earlobe, gently stroking while her soft hair fell over his arm. Somehow it was only logical to do what he did next: he leaned in even closer until his lips found her mouth.

Her breath mingled with his, and what had begun as a gentle, tentative touch became more intense when he felt her hand on his back. He pulled her closer, caressing the base of her skull, and the strong, thrilling sensation of the shiver running through the body pressed against his own made him gasp into her mouth. She drew back, but only the tiniest distance; her eyes were shining.

"You'll have to bear with me," she murmured, and now her fingers reached his face, following a maddening trace along his cheekbones and around his ear. "I'm a bit… out of practice."

He opened his mouth, but he found himself unable to speak. A disturbing multitude of thoughts crossed his mind, the newfound, hesitating delight almost immediately stifled by a darkness he'd learned to live with over the years; the hunched creature that had clung to his heart on the way into a new life raised its ugly head, hissing of doubts and distrust. More than twenty years of laboriously seeking his way across a mine field of hidden traps and lethal dangers had taught him to nurture suspicion as an essential virtue, and now he found himself unable to believe that this unusual woman should actually desire whatever he had to offer. He had no illusions when it came to his outwardly appearance, and he knew the scars and deformations of his old soul too well to be completely sure of his new one.

"Stephen?"

He looked into her eyes and before he could even try to control himself, he had wordlessly cast the spell unlocking the mind beyond that clear gaze, meeting not even the mildest resistance.

_-- he saw darkness… darkness, and a boy, smiling up at Ruta. Teddy. And then there was another face he knew all too well, gleeful malice and an untamed greed to destroy, to maul, to kill… Fenrir Greyback, cruelly enjoying the prospect of feasting on his long awaited revenge._

_Teddy. Please, not Teddy._

_Overwhelming panic, replaced by the fear for the boy, and only the boy. Excruciating pain, a crashing fall, and darkness again. He left the disturbing images behind, exploring layer after layer of thoughts and memories and constantly seeking for the one man he expected to see… but to his utter surprise he didn't find him._

_Instead, he found his own face. He found himself, standing a short distance away, eyeing her with uneasy interest and then stepping closer, reluctantly establishing the first contact. This must have been the day when she spoke to him about the mysterious transformation of his garden. His own face once more as he leaned over the garden wall, his eyes, surprisingly close, and his voice, speaking to her:_

_"Are you ashamed of him?"_

_Ah, there it was – a short glimpse of Remus Lupin, younger, much younger, without the tired lines, etched into his face, smiling and saying something he didn't understand. But then the small, vivid image went out like a candle, and he saw his own face again and again… brightened by the sun and an occasional smile, warmed by firelight as he sat beside the table in his living room, revealing his story to the woman who knew so much about him now and still wanted to learn more… his familiar play of features, seen through her eyes, and all those memories radiating a warmth that trickled into his body, filling him to the brim… hesitating care, growing into a honest friendship and then – very slowly - changing again, to something deeper this time, something much deeper, something that --_

He withdrew from her mind with a violent jerk and found himself slumped against her body, his brow touching her naked skin; he was shaken to the core.

"Forgive me."

His own voice, though he barely recognized it. For a long, agonizing moment Ruta lay completely still, and he couldn't bring himself to look up and see his own damnation in her face. And then, all of a sudden, he felt her hands… _both_ hands, gently lifting his head from her shoulder.

There was no damnation in her eyes whatsoever, only a hint of sadness.

"You could have asked," she said.

"For what?" he asked in a sharp, desperate tone. He could feel the all-too-familiar self-loathing rise and break over him like a black wave. "For the permission to enter your mind and discover your deepest secrets?"

To his surprise she laughed… a soft, low chuckle.

"No, you trying, askant man," she said, and now it was she who sought his lips. It was a quick, fleeting kiss, and then her mouth wandered across his cheek, whispering into his ear. "For the truth. What did you expect to see? That I still hunger for the shadow of someone who never was mine in the first place? Well, I don't. The man you've been searching for in my mind has died with the past. I want _you_, Severus… Stephen… whoever you chose to be in the future, I want _you_… or you wouldn't be here."

Ruta laughed again, a warm, earthy sound, and despite his bone-deep unease he felt his body react in an unmistakable way. Whatever he wanted to say, any further apology, any sincere expression of thankfulness fled from his mind when he felt her lips on his mouth again, a sweet, exhilarating invitation to learn, to discover, to _feel_. With a shiver of sheer relief he gave in to the long-denied, long-forbidden wish to explore this body that was offered to him.

He kissed her temple, the curve of her jaw and the point where the long, slender neck merged to her shoulder. He stroked her collarbones and heard her delighted sigh when she wriggled free from the duvet and gave him access to small, firm breasts with rosy tips, filling his hands and sending an electric shock through his entire flesh. He tried to remember when he had done this before, losing track along the chain of far too many empty years without a touch and warmth like this, without the fleeting breeze of his breath on a woman's skin and the thrill of his mouth, blindly seeking for a firm bud. A low moan came from somewhere above him, and then her hands combed his hair, encouraging him further while the duvet finally slid down to the floor.

His left hand followed the soft curve of her hips in reverent wonder while the right found its way across her flat belly and felt the long thighs open under seeking fingers. Her body rose to meet him and he drew back his hand, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold back if he rushed things now, and forcefully willing his fingers to stop from shaking.

He looked up, reveling in the sight of her: a flushed face, lips half open, eyes glowing in a secret fire that struck sparks on his very skin, the long hair a tousled mass over her naked shoulders and back. He noticed the silvery streaks interspersing the warm hazelnut brown, he saw the fine lines around her eyes, the marks of exhaustion and lost youth, leading down from her nose to the corners of her mouth, and the painful pattern of scars on shoulder and arm. _She was beautiful._

Ruta sat up, reaching out for him.

"I… I want to see you." She found the topmost button of his shirt, struggling to open it with her left hand, then gave a shaky giggle and bit her lip. "My goodness, look at me… this is the worst moment possible to be clumsy, isn't it?"

"Let me do it."

Her unsteadiness was delightful and encouraging at the same time. He quickly got up from the bed to rid himself of his clothes, dropping them unceremoniously on the carpet. There was no time to be uncertain or embarrassed; he returned to her, watching her face as she looked at him, her eyes shining in amazement and joy. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You know that I have to ask," he whispered, "and I will only ask once. Are you… _sure?"_

"I am sure, Stephen," she replied, reaching out for him; her hand touched his cheek, and her thumb caressed his mouth. "Sure enough to beg, if I must. _Please…"_

He sat down in front of her and pulled her close, cupping her breasts again, overwhelmed by the sensation of arousing curves and silky skin while he captured her lips in a long, hungry kiss. She drew back, her hands roaming his shoulders, the planes of his chest and abdomen, and he sat still, barely daring to stir, and at the same time fighting to keep control. It would be so easy to dictate the fast, rough pace his famished body was screaming for. But he wanted her to enjoy this wholeheartedly, silently blessing fate that his experience with the matters of physical love was sufficient enough to give her the pleasure she deserved… even though it took all his force of will to banish the knowledge how he had gained this particular experience. _He agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him…_ Voldemort's own words about his doubtable ability to love and to desire after Lily's death, screamed right into Harry Potter's face and mercilessly repeated in one of Rita Skeeter's dratted articles.

_No._ No, he wouldn't allow a rotten past to demolish what fate had granted him now. Voldemort was defeated, nothing more than a pale shadow. Other lovers, forced upon him and painfully unwanted, were lost in his past, nothing more than faceless bodies. Even Lily was gone…. and it had been Lily who told him that he deserved a second chance, in the cheerful brightness of the dreamlike place between this world and the next. A second chance to start all over again, a new chance to trust and to care. _To trust and to care for this astonishing woman who had turned out to be a most powerful and healing Bezoar against what had ailed and poisoned him for most of his life. _

But only if he managed to let go of the images he still kept in his soul.

_Lily in Hogsmeade, her eyes laughing up at him under a fur-lined hood. Her face, swimming in the clouds of steam from a cauldron, pure and as stunningly beautiful as a precious medal._ Not all of his treasures had he delivered to her son on that day in the Shrieking Shack. Some of them had wandered with him into the new, unfamiliar skin of Stephen Seeker – and now he understood in a sudden flash of insight that the moment had come to abandon them. No silver mist, following the momentum of a wand down to the surface of a river, like in the fairytale – rather a door, ultimately closed against a pain long past, while he turned his face to the future.

With the past finally bestowed, he was able to focus on the present, on the breathtaking reality in his hands. Gently he lifted Ruta into his lap; he knew that she could feel the hardness of his desire against her thigh, and he gave a shallow, hissing breath when she touched it. She explored him without any shyness, running her fingers up and down the whole length and then carefully adjusting her hips; the hale arm slipped around his neck.

She let herself sink down, and from one moment to the next he was surrounded by slick, smoldering heat. His head fell back and he gasped in unexpected panic. It was too much, too intense, _too fast…_ and then his starved body refused to follow the dictation of his will, thrusting up into her yielding flesh and breaking the tension with an irresistible, violent peak.

Stephen Seeker was at a complete loss for words; he held her close, his brow against the consoling softness of her skin, breath and heartbeat ragged from his untimely release. His mind was swirling with embarrassment and silent anger. _That was disastrous. He had wanted to give her nothing less than the ultimate experience of physical pleasure, and then… this. _

"I'm sorry," he murmured when he finally found his voice again. "I must admit that I feel as silly as any sixth-year dunderhead after a first and completely miscarried fumbling session in the bushes."

To his astonishment, Ruta giggled.

"Before you reported that clumsy Casanova to his Head of House or afterwards?" she asked, her mouth in his hair.

"Before, I presume," he said, his lips relaxing in a reluctant smile; he felt more than a little sheepish. "After my report – and my thorough lecture – he would be completely _crushed."_

Her giggle turned to a full-blown laughter… and the effect on his treacherous body was as surprising as it was hopeful.

_"Don't_… don't stop laughing," he breathed against her breast. "It works wonders on my… erh… condition."

_"Oh._ Does it indeed?" She laughed again, in a mixture of amazement and delight. He straightened his back, his arms supporting the body enclosing his newly growing hardness, and was rewarded with the sight of her sparkling eyes.

"It is like riding a bicycle, you know," she informed him in a serious tone, spoiling the impression with a sigh as she rose slightly atop of him and sank down again. "You never… _ahhhh…_ you never unlearn it." Another, deeper sigh, as his body responded with a flowing movement, his hands running down her spine and resting on the swell of her buttocks.

"I've never mounted a bicycle in my entire life," he protested before his lips found a quickly hardening bud. Now it was _her_ turn to gasp, and his hands slid to her waist, closing around it in a firm grip.

"Move for me," he whispered, voice catching in his throat. "I promise I'll hold you."

He couldn't take his eyes from her as she slowly found her rhythm, eyes closed, brow furrowed in rapt concentration. For a long while, the only sound in the silent room was their heavy breathing and the soft creaking of the bed frame. Now she moved faster, and he could feel his hips arching involuntarily when the burning forebodes of a second peak made every muscle tense in feverish anticipation.

Her fingers dug into his bare shoulder; suddenly she gave a sharp scream and her entire body grew rigid, balancing at the edge of her climax. He moaned aloud, for the moment careless of everything else but the unleashed passion radiating from her, and his own, seething need. Then Ruta cried his name with a broken, breathless voice, shivering, her face sinking against his neck. There was no need to hold back any longer, and he wouldn't have been able to curb the maddening urge to _move_ anyway. _Once… twice… a third time, erratic and ferociously now…_ and then he felt his own release erupt deep inside of her again. At the same time she raised her head and claimed his mouth in a ravening kiss, and for a few seconds the world sunk into a blissful, velvet-black darkness.

He came back to himself, lying with her on the bed in a boneless embrace, limbs entangled, her hair spilling over his chest like a soft, warm curtain. He could hear his heartbeat slowly returning to a steady rhythm while the sensation of their lovemaking still hummed in every fiber of his body. He wanted to speak, to give words to the numb, disbelieving wonder filling his heart, but then he turned his head instead, kissed her temple and said the first thing that came into his mind.

"Does your arm hurt?"

"No," she murmured; her smile was sweet and cheerful against his bare skin. "I have forgotten how pain feels."

"Then you should recommend this special cure to the healers of St. Mungo's," he gently remarked. "They will doubtlessly be rather… _intrigued."_

A long moment of silence. Then her voice again, drowsy but still curious: "Did you really report each and every student you found in the bushes, entangled with a classmate?"

Stephen grinned. "Actually, I never did. Being caught in the act by me of all people was punishment and humiliation enough, wasn't it?"

"How very true." Her eyelids fluttered closed, and only moments later she fell asleep. He held her in his arms, watching the sun rise outside in flaming pink and gold, the brightness of the new day like a warming fire within his soul.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

**Author's Notes: **

I kept as close to Rowling's version of _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ as possible (at least to the details _amazon_ revealed in the summary). If you want to check it, go here:

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refamblink60575422?ieUTF8&docId1000180871&pfrd  
mATVPDKIKX0DER&pfrdscenter-3&pfrdr19ABP3RH7J6TG4MMKPEW&pf  
rdt1401&pfrdp377812001&pfrdi1000179911#review2

And if you return to the main page (see link at the bottom) and are patient enough to wait for the pictures to load, you'll be able to have a look at the book; you will doubtlessly notice where my description came from. :-)

I would like to give my praise to the two amazing ladies who helped me with this chapter, _rabidsamfan_ and _clevertoad_. This wouldn't be as half as satisfying as it is, if not for you.


	15. In League With The Devil

Chapter Fourteen**  
In League with the Devil**

Rain clouds hung heavily over Diagon Alley; the last lights had gone out at _Flourish & Blotts_, and a few late pedestrians were hurrying back into the warmth of the _Leaky Cauldron_. A huge, golden sign on the wall of a narrow house down the road said "DAILY PROPHET", but most of the windows of the editorial office were dark; the _Evening Prophet_ had just gone to press (without any spectacular headlines), and the droning sound of the printing machines in the basement (handled by a dozen house elves) was ignored by the few employees still sitting behind their desks.

The large, windowed office of chief editor Barnabas Cuffe – relentlessly tidy as ever - was empty, as was the corner room the notorious Rita Skeeter had claimed for her own. The walls of that small chamber were decorated with countless articles and photographs, showing her gaudy lipstick grin and glittering glasses. On a scrupulously dusted shelf her books were displayed, _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ and _Harry Potter – The Story of the Boy Who Lived_, together with recent translations into German and French. On her desk a small, sealed metal chest was waiting, filled with the notes for the book she was currently writing; a note was pinned on the leather writing pad, the title of her newest oeuvre scribbled on it in a steep, narcissistic hand: _Severus Snape – Scoundrel or Saint?_

Just outside the door to Miss Skeeter's office stood another desk, the tabletop brightened by a pool of light from a brass candleholder. A woman sat in front of it, studying an article in the yellowing newspaper spread in front of her.

The article was nearly forty years old, with two photos, one showing a young Fenrir Greyback and the other man in his late thirties, straight as a broom and as grim as a gravestone. **LUPIN ACCUSES GREYBACK OF SLAUGHTER,** the headline screamed. The article had been written by Barnabas Cuffe, reporting the trial against Greyback after the tragic death of two Muggle twins in Nottingham 1968. He had been found not guilty, to the great dismay of many wizards in the area, and to the stunned rage of the man who was Remus Lupin's father.

The woman stared down at the yellowed paper. _Reginald Lupin, father of Remus and uncle of __**Ruta**__ Lupin._ The gentle, oval face with the pale grey eyes suddenly hardened, the charming rose petal lips forming a narrow, cantankerous line.

_Ruta Lupin._

Vicky Stone remembered her very well from Hogwarts, even though Ruta's face had constantly been hidden behind a book, and though Remus Lupin's cousin had never participated in the usual Ravenclaw house conspiracies. She recalled with astonishing clarity how Ruta had refused to loan her "Herbology" homework while she – Vindictia Stone, twelve years old and desperately determined to prove herself – still struggled with the use and effect of valerian and goldenrod on magically induced fever. Other children would probably have long forgotten that miniscule defeat, but Vicky had the accurate memory of an elephant, keeping every small insult and rejection like a secretly rotting treasure in her heart.

Ruta continued disappearing behind her books while Vicky finally became a constant in the hierarchy of Ravenclaw. She scrupulously pondered every step, every spoken word and every gesture, to stabilize and to defend her hard-won position. She managed to appear eager and studious in most subjects, and she cultivated the ability to persuade naïve fellow-students into sharing their work with her whenever she found the themes for upcoming essays too difficult or simply too boring. Ruta, however, stubbornly refused to do so; instead she offered private lessons (which would have meant extra work, of course, a prospect that wasn't tempting, to say the least).

Then, during the Christmas Holidays of her third year, Vindictia Stone took a trip to Diagon Alley and spent a very interesting hour in _Araminta Addams' Antique Shoppe_. She ignored the dusty chaos of dented cauldrons, broken Sneakoscopes and cheap magical pottery and headed straight for a high shelf with used books.

Between half a dozen paperbacks about the amorous adventures of _Lavinia Shrewsbury: The Sensual Sorceress_ and a sadly unread copy of Celestina Warbeck's unauthorized autobiography _CELESTINA: The Bewitching Voice_ she found a very old pamphlet. Leafing through the yellowed pages, she discovered more than twenty recipes for love potions and other fascinating draughts. The name of the author – a certain Catherine Monvoisin – was unknown to her, but she was clever enough to sense the sudden chance for easy fame. She bought the book for a few sickles and took it back to Hogwarts. During the following weeks, Vicky cautiously tried one or two of the recipes… to the delight of Horace Slughorn, who ascribed to her an "astonishing resourcefulness" and rewarded Ravenclaw with fifty points.

Vicky was delighted, too… and decided immediately to use the book as a source for even more influence. During the next three and a half years she ran a roaring trade of secretly filled bottles and phials, and her success was as astonishing as it was magnificent. She had a hand in every second emotional drama in Ravenclaw and enjoyed her newfound power enormously, and of course she expected to gain an "Outstanding" in her Potions N.E.W.T.'s.

But somewhere in her seventh year Ruta stepped out of the shadows, as she began some thorough studies about the use of _mandragora vernalis_ against dangerous curses. Vicky followed her classmate's progress with increasing curiosity. She found out very quickly that Ruta's assumptions contradicted the theses of Phyllida Spore, author of the standard work _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_; but Miss Lupin was right nonetheless, and both her style and argumentation were – according to a very enthusiastic Professor Sprout – absolutely flawless.

And then one evening Ruta had approached her in the common room of Ravenclaw house; most of the students had already gone to bed, and when Vicky looked up from her parchment roll, the insignificant Miss Lupin was sitting in the chair beside her.

"That was an interesting love potion you created today," she remarked, "though the use of _mandragora vernalis_ is a bit… venturous."

"Why?" Vicky asked, stifling a yawn.

Ruta gave a soft laugh. "Because it is so terribly poisonous," she said, "which is one of the many reasons why it shouldn't be used against the _Pestis_ Curse. In my honest opinion, you can't replace one evil with another. And to use it in love potions is even more dangerous, and not very helpful, I think… it has a numbing effect on body and spirit."

Vicky eyed her, increasingly irritated.

"You are a real know-it-all, aren't you?" she said.

"No," Ruta replied, still friendly and tantalizingly calm. "But the use of _mandragora vernalis_ in any draught is my hobbyhorse right now. And if you want to find out more about interesting love potions with that special ingredient, you should try to ask Madam Pince for a copy of _Philtres d'Amour_ by Catherine Monvoisin."

"Catherine… _who?"_ Vicky's heartbeat stumbled and then turned to a frenzied gallop.

"Monvoisin." Ruta turned her eyes to the dying embers in the fireplace. "She lived in the 17th century and was a famous alumna of Beauxbatons. Sadly enough, she developed a strong taste for the Dark Arts; she lived in Paris and discovered that the Muggle nobility were a profitable market for her skills. She sold potions to the Mistress of the French King, and to a multitude of courtiers… and doubtlessly a few brews that were everything else but harmless. She also got involved in horrendously dark rituals, and in 1679 the matter became a great scandal. The Royal Police arrested almost the entire circle around Madame Monvoisin; it never became fully clear if she actually went through the questionings and the torture that followed the arrests herself. She was a brilliant Potions Mistress and exceptionally skilled with Transfigurations… I think she simply took one of her Muggle minions, turned her to a spitting image of her own person and Imperiused her, up to the point that her substitute died on a pyre in February 1680."

"What…" Vicky cleared her throat; her mouth was suddenly very dry. "What became of the real Monvoisin?"

Ruta shrugged. "Uncle Corminius always said that she collected the fortune she had gained with her dubious services and bought a country estate somewhere in Eastern Europe, wisely withdrawing from the Muggle world. She hoped to be invited to teach at her former school, but the Headmaster didn't feel comfortable with her obvious involvement in the Dark Arts. Durmstrang had no such qualms, and so she ended her career as a well-respected Potions Mistress in Russia." She got up from the chair. "Uncle Corminius is very interested in historical potions and magical herb lore. He owns a copy of her book… the English version, but I think recall the original title correctly. I am fairly certain that Madam Pince keeps it in the restricted section."

She walked over to the stairs leading to the dormitory.

"I'll go to bed now… and you should, too. You look a bit green around the gills. Good night!"

Then she was gone, and Vicky stared after her, trembling with shock. _There could be no doubt that Ruta Lupin had discovered her secret… that all her recent success and knowledge was merely borrowed from a book. She would go to Flitwick and grass her, and Vicky saw all her lofty dreams being scattered on the stone floor. _

The effect on her self-confidence was disastrous, and the festering animosity towards Ruta that had been sleeping in her heart awoke to full life again. How could that pale spectre of a girl dare to get into her way, after all Vicky's years of spinning her complicated web of enormously important relations, gossip and semi-wisdom? How could Ruta Lupin dare to rob her of the glory she so obviously deserved… ?

Her disappointment and rage grew until it filled her mind completely; the N.E.W.T's were rapidly approaching now. After a few weeks, the fear of being reported constantly hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles, she was angry and upset enough to throw all reason into the winds. Six days before the exams she broke into Ruta's big trunk, stole the finished text of her classmate's essay and all the notes she could find and burned every single shred of paper in a merry little pyre in the fireplace of the Ravenclaw common room.

Her triumph was shamefully short-lived, however. She'd had no idea that Pomona Sprout kept a copy of the essay in question; she didn't know that it had already been sent to the editor of _Magical Herbs Today_, to be published as an article, and was printed just as she thought that the annoying thorn in her flesh had finally been removed. There was never an official enquiry, but she was forced to spend a rather unpleasant hour in the company of Albus Dumbledore and Filius Flitwick; a housemate had watched her theft in the dormitory, safely hidden behind royal blue bed curtains. To make things worse, the girl in question had been one of the more unfortunate victims of Vicky's love potions. Therefore she didn't hesitate to report what she had witnessed, and only the fact that the school year was about to end very soon anyway had saved Miss Stone from being expelled. The worst thing was that Catherine Monvoisin's book and Vicky's trickery were not mentioned at all; she never found out if Ruta Lupin had really told anybody about it. But by taking revenge for Ruta's remark that evening in the common room, Vicky had dug her own grave.

To her dismay, Vicky only managed an „Exceeds Expectations" in herbology; her other school achievements were merely „acceptable". Ruta, however, gained an „Outstanding" for her invention of a draught against mildew; and on top of it she was awarded for exactly the essay Vicky had so desperately tried to destroy. After the N.E.W.Ts, they immediately lost contact (which was certainly better for _both_ of them).

The intercession of her uncle gained Vicky a position as junior reporter at the _Daily Prophet_. It took her only twenty-four hours to realize, however, that this meant everything from brewing coffee to picking up repaired wizard robes from Madame Malkin.

During the following years she had worked stubbornly and patiently, but had achieved no more than a moderate success, writing articles for page three and reading manuscripts of new authors seeking publication when she wasn't delving the archives for the more famous reporters. The return of the Dark Lord had given her a small fame (for it was she who wrote a good part of the Ministry-friendly articles, after Rita Skeeter – to the great dismay of her superiors – had published that disastrous tale about Harry Potter in the _Quibbler_). When the war was over, Miss Skeeter regained a good part of her reputation by writing two very successful books; when she suddenly offered Vicky the part time position as a personal assistant, Vicky willingly accepted, nurturing the hope for a late, personal glory she had been dreaming of for years.

Since then she had done most of the research that had led to the (nearly finished) manuscript in the metal chest on Rita Skeeter's desk – not the kind of research any honest author would have wished for, of course. Vicky had watched as Rita latched onto every unconfirmed anecdote, outrageous lie and sprinkled the lot with a smattering of the truths which Vicky had unearthed -- but only so long as they served Rita's purpose.

Now Vicky sat in the empty editorial office, eyes fixed on the printed, angry face of Reginald Lupin without really seeing it. Memory took her back to what she had thought would be her best chance for a great career.

Nearly two months ago, Rita Skeeter had gone on a reading tour through Cornwall and Wales. The weekend after she left, Vicky caught an owl with a rather mysterious message. It was directed at the _Daily Prophet_, but clearly meant to be read by Rita Skeeter whose name stood on the envelope. It took Vicky only seconds to convince herself that she – as Miss Skeeter's trustworthy assistant – had every legitimate right and certainly the duty to open it. The letter told Rita to meet someone unnamed at _The Wanton Witch_, "for the sake of a thrilling and exclusive story". It was the sort of anonymous message that Vicky would immediately have tossed aside were it not for the scribbled apodosis beyond the illegible signature.

_Fenrir Greyback is still alive. If you want to be the one to tell his story, then come alone, this Wednesday at half past nine in the evening._

Fenrir Greyback! His crimes were legendary, his cruel fame nourished the spooky kind of bedtime stories only very few children really wanted to hear. And people were still afraid of saying his name aloud. Vicky on her part was clever enough to know better; though finding out that the message in the letter was true, and Greyback was alive indeed…

This time it took her a little longer to decide. _The Wanton Witch_ was one of the most disreputable inns in Knockturn Alley, and under normal circumstances Vicky would've never dared to approach it without a bodyguard -- she couldn't change shape like Rita. Vicky knew her boss good enough to be sure that she would be furious if she ever found out about this. Rita Skeeter was absolutely unwilling to tolerate any rival, and on the very rare occasions when Vicky dared to go beyond her competencies, she'd had to deal with a truly frightening and ice cold rage. But Rita would be away from the office for another two weeks, and the sudden chance to escape her stifling control was simply too good not to use it.

Thus on a broodingly hot evening at the end of August Vicky knotted a dark headscarf over her neat, strawberry blonde hairdo and vanished between the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Her cloak was shabby, her shoes old and worn down, and she was too careful to sport any jewelry. She made her way around a sharp bend and nearly ran into two women in scarlet, slitted gowns, showing pale, naked thighs.

"Hey, pretty," one of them – tall and thin as a broomstick, the crow's feet around her hard, dark eyes smeared with thick make-up - hissed into Vicky' s ear, "Care for some coaching how to turn from a grey mouse into a Phoenix?"

"Not if _you're_ the teacher, you starved, old hen," Vicky hissed back and easily dodged the halfhearted blow aimed at her. She had finally reached her destination; dim lights were flickering behind yellowish windows and a low shingle roof obscured the entrance like some gloomily knit eyebrow. Above her, the inn sign hung unmoving, showing a woman with ridiculously long, curly hair and exposed breasts, her wand spraying blood red sparks. The door of _The Wanton Witch_ opened, and suddenly a burning aroma of fire whiskey and cheap beer overwhelmed her senses. She held her breath and slipped past two men leaving the inn, and then she stood in the taproom. The air was blue with smoke. She was still trying to locate the possible writer of that mysterious letter when suddenly a hand closed around her upper arm.

The grip was hard as iron, and she found herself dragged along between tables and benches. Only seconds later she stumbled through a hidden side exit and out into a narrow back yard. Huge garbage bins stood along the wall, overflowing with rotten leftovers and broken bottles, but Vicky had barely time to take in more of her unpleasant surrounding; she was pushed against a low timber fence and gaped at the tall figure towering in front of her.

"You," a deep voice snarled from the shadow of a big hood, "are _not_ Rita Skeeter. Did she send you here?"

Vicky straightened her back, trying desperately to control the miserable chattering of her teeth.

"I'm her personal assistant," she croaked. "Unfortunately Miss Skeeter is unavailable – for several important reasons. But I'm authorized to speak on her behalf… and to make certain offers, if that is what you came for."

The dark figure gave a hoarse chuckle, and Vicky could feel the fine hair on the back of her neck rise in icy panic. She had no doubt who he was… but amidst her fear her brain was still working, and she asked herself what could be important enough to make him literally rise from his grave.

"I am not interested in money," the man said. "I'm after a certain piece of information - and if you're able to deliver it, I'll give you a complete account of my whereabouts during the last eight years. I even have a juicy little extra about an order of Werewolves that has been a worry to the Ministry of Magic of Romania for more than three decades. They have overcome the curse of the moon, you know." Again that low chuckle, and Vicky's mouth grew dry. "They are able to change whenever they want… and I had the chance to test their method."

Vicky's knees were trembling; she was thankful for the support of the fence behind her. She licked her lips. "If… if you decide to demonstrate the effect, I might be unable to provide you with the information you're seeking for," she managed.

"Smart brat." Greyback laughed. "Smart enough, I guess, to know that I won't tolerate the idea of telling anybody in the Werewolf Capture Unit about our little meeting, yes?" Suddenly his hand came up, gripping her chin. "For if you give me away, my inquisitive little treasure, I will know it… and I will find you. Understood?"

"Understood." She swallowed nervously, but at the same time a thin streak of triumph was woven through her fear. If she actually made it through this dangerous deal and lived to tell the story, the rewards would be enormous.

"What is it that you want?" she asked.

"I want to know everything you're able to find out about the Lupin family," he said. His voice was completely colorless. "I know that Remus Lupin died in the Second Battle, and that his parents passed away nearly twenty years ago. But his father's cousin should still be alive… and he has a daughter. I met her as a child… delightful little thing."

_Ruta. No doubt, he was talking about Ruta Lupin!_

"You want to know where they live… all of them?"

"Oh yes." The strong fingers loosened their grip around her chin and wandered upward, grazing her cheek. It took her all power of will not to jerk back. "And of course there's Theodore… Remus' son. He's eight years old now, I believe, and I'm particularly interested in his… _well-being."_

The blood in her veins turned to ice. She knew the story of the Lupin family from Rita Skeeter's book about The Boy Who Lived; Rita had expatiated every tragic detail with malicious pleasure, and only Harry Potter's cooperation had prevented the worst excrescences. There was no mistaking Greyback's aim; using her skills in research and giving him what he wanted would probably mean sealing the fate of that child.

Thoughts were fluttering in her head, like birds, trying to escape the cage of the fowler… _wasn't Harry Potter the boy's godfather?? And he would certainly protect him well, wouldn't he? With a little luck Greyback might never be able to lay his hands on the boy._

Vicky Stone took a deep breath and steeled herself against the nagging of her own conscience.

Telling that beast in front of her how to find the Lupins meant _nothing_… only a piece of public knowledge Greyback could use… or not. The consequences of this bargain were not her business anyway. She barely knew these people… except for Ruta, and their former encounters at Hogwarts had earned her only failure and humiliation. Perhaps, Vicky thought with a small thrill of guilty satisfaction, Ruta deserved to finally pay for her arrogance; a certain amount of fright and danger was only justified.

_It was Vindictia Stone's turn to be successful at last._

"You will have to wait a few days," she heard herself coolly say. "Gathering every single piece of information takes a bit of work. Next week – same time, same place?"

"Same time, same place." His voice was heavy with a dark, malicious amusement. "I take it that I can count on you, then?"

"Of course." Vicky gave a short, determined nod. "As long as you fulfill your part of the agreement, I will fulfill mine." --

One week later they met again, and she told him where he could find Rudolphus, Ruta and Theodore Lupin. This time her calloused conscience raised no more objections, and she eagerly made notes while Greyback told her about the Werewolf order in Romania. He refused to give her any details about his personal life, though. He said that she would get his story as soon as he had confirmed the truth of hers… and Vicky left Knockturn Alley, filled with a mixture of fear that she had been fooled, and the stubborn conviction that her time of glory was finally drawing close.

That had been at the end of August. Since then no owl, no message, not a single word. Fenrir Greyback had vanished into thin air, and her dreams of a dashing career with his assistance threatened to do the same.

Vicky stared down at the article, her gaze fixed on the grim face of Ruta Lupin's father. She couldn't wait any longer… she had to find out what happened before Rita Skeeter found out about Vicky's secret plans. There had been no alarming news about Rudolphus Lupin; the old wizard was obviously still healthy and whole, living unharmed in his house near London. And considering Greyback's infamous liking for very young flesh, he had most certainly tried his luck with Remus Lupin's offspring first.

Vicky didn't have to consult her notes. Theodore Lupin lived with his grandmother, in a small, remote Muggle village in the North… same as her former classmate. She would use the fact that Rita was totally absorbed with reading the page proofs for the Snape-biography right now and wouldn't notice her absence anyway. She had to find Greyback's trace again.

_St. Mary Green,_ Vicky Stone thought, a gentle, confident smile on her Madonna-like face. The name was like a hopeful incantation in her mind. _St. Mary Green, Eskdale, Lake District._

vvvvv

Ruta Lupin swam back to consciousness from the depths of a dreamless slumber. Red-golden light shimmered behind her closed lids; she turned her head on the pillow, stretching limb after limb and realizing with bottomless relief that her body had returned to human form.

Her senses were still heightened and sharp after the change, however; the fresh scent of the lemon geranium on the pilaster beside the bookshelf mingled with the lavender aroma of the soap she used to wash the curtains. There was still a whiff of cinder and wood smoke in the air, telling her that someone must have lit a fire in the bedroom the evening before. The smooth fabric of the linen coverlet case felt like a sensual caress on her bare skin.

_Her bare skin._

Ruta opened her eyes. She sat up, feeling a little dizzy and lightheaded, and it took her a while to take in the familiar surroundings. Her gaze found the old pendulum clock on the mantelpiece; it told her that noon had just passed. The curtains were closed, but a slim ray of sunlight painted a bright line on the carpet. A heap of grey ashes lay on the grate in the fireplace, and then she spotted something small and rectangular on the mantelpiece, right beside the clock. She pushed back the coverlet and got up, fighting an intense sensation of unreality; after living in the body of a wolf for more than three days, it seemed disturbingly strange to move on two human legs.

She stood in front of the fireplace and held the book in her hands. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard;_ she had accidentally taken it home with her after the last bedtime story for Teddy in Dromeda's house.

"_Once upon a time there was a wondrous garden at the far end of the Kingdom, enclosed by a high wall and protected by powerful spells no wizard or wand was able to break." Stephen, sitting in the chair and reading the fairytale to her that she loved most, while she was encased in the form the curse forced upon her… The horror of being ripped out of her human identity, dimmed by the draught he had given her, and the deep, familiar voice, soothing her helplessness._

Her thumb grazed the silver skulls on the binding as the rest of that night finally unfolded in her mind, a picture of strange beauty and peace.

_Her eyes, opening to the dawn, his face above her and his hand on her cheek… "Are you... sure?" And then his touch slowly setting her aflame, his arm, holding her, the last remnants of her anxiety melting away under his hands on her body. What could have become a matter of embarrassment and shame had been turned to a feast, and his inability to hold back had only intensified her pleasure._

Ruta walked to the door, took the dressing gown from the hook and managed to wrap it around her naked body; she registered absently that she was able to bend her arm much further than before… Winky's adamant resolve to supervise her exercises paid off really well.

_His kiss pure redemption, his body a solid wall against the chaos of her shattered life… Her lips, hungrily claiming his as she felt her peak draw close, every fiber of her unaccustomed body taut as a bowstring, his breathless voice ringing in her ears as they both reached completion, mouth to mouth, heart to heart._

She caught a glimpse of her flushed face in the round, small mirror on the wall and stood still, unconsciously raising her hand and following the trace of his last kiss with a fingertip. She realized what she was doing and blushed even deeper. For the first time she noticed the silence in the house. _Where was he? Had he left? _Would _he leave… after a night like this? _

She turned away from the mirror and walked down the stairs. There was no sound from the kitchen, no whiff of Winky's freshly brewed coffee. The house elf must have left when her master arrived last night. But she knew that Stephen was still there even before she entered the parlor.

He sat at the table, gazing out at the street. Vest and frock hung over the back of his chair, and his hair looked slightly damp. Ruta took a deep breath.

"Good morning, Stephen," she said. "You've obviously found my rosemary soap – well chosen, for I don't think you would like the one with rose oil and lavender."

He turned around quickly, and their eyes met. She saw surprise and a hint of amusement in his face.

"Good morning, Ruta." He rose from the chair. "There's some breakfast for you, though you'll have to be content with my poor skills. I sent Winky back to my house last night. Come and sit down while I fetch it."

Ruta smiled, strangely reassured by the casual tone of his voice. "Let me guess… porridge? And you brewed yourself some _Assam_ tea."

"Very remarkable." He watched her as she settled down on the opposite side of the table. "An after-effect of the change, I presume?"

"I think so – and certainly not the worst one." Her smile deepened. "I'm incredibly hungry, you know."

"Of course you are." Stephen took his empty mug and plate. "You didn't eat anything for nearly three days." He left the room and came back with a small, steaming bowl and another mug. "Cocoa," he explained, "And I cooked the porridge with a mixture of milk and water… we'd better not overstrain your empty stomach."

"Thank you, Stephen." She took the first spoonful of the porridge. It was smooth and sweet; he had been generous with the sugar and while she dutifully continued eating, she felt her energy rise to a more normal level again. "Very good, really."

"But not your favorite breakfast dish, isn't it?"

She shot him a surprised gaze. "That's true. How do you…?"

"Winky." Laughter danced briefly in the black eyes; she saw it with delight. "I am thoroughly informed about your preferences. Croissants, butter, marmalade and honey… and of course you're hopelessly addicted to her coffee."

"Of course." Sudden warmth rose into her face. "You seem to know me pretty well."

Stephen didn't answer; he sat down on the chair again, looking down on his fingers. The silence grew until it became deafening, and it felt for her as if suddenly a deep gap yawned between them. _It was downright ridiculous. During that unbelievable last night she had explored nearly every inch of his skin – and now she didn't even dare to reach out and touch his hand. _

"On the contrary, Ruta," he finally said. "You are an ongoing mystery to me. I never expected to encounter something… someone like you."

"I am nothing special," she replied softly. "And you should know – better than anyone else – how fallible I am."

"Stop that." His voice was surprisingly rough. "Must I really remind you of the unfortunate deeds of my youth? You may have tried to bribe a grieving man into a love he didn't actually feel, but I gave away the hiding place of the Potters to the Dark Lord and caused his grief – and that of many others."

_Including your own_, Ruta thought, but she didn't say it aloud.

"And what comes next?" Stephen continued. Now it was he who reached out and touched her; strong fingers closed around her chin and tipped her head up until their eyes met. "Will you try to apologize for luring me into this friendship and finally into your bed?"

She stared at him, unable to speak.

"With the same justification I could claim that I stole into your house twelve hours ago, that I waited for you to change back, and that I completed my nefarious misdeed by taking advantage of your exhaustion and vulnerability."

"You _didn't!"_ Ruta gasped, torn between horror and amusement.

"You are right, I didn't." He released her chin, leaning back in his chair. "Whatever idiocies we both committed in our younger years – and what I did even as I got older and should perhaps have been wiser – had nothing to do with what happened last night."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm glad that you see it that way."

"I wouldn't want to see it differently." He looked out of the window again. "It was a… an unexpected gift, and I'd never dare to diminish it with memories and misgivings."

"Yes. But Stephen…" Now Ruta turned her eyes away and looked down at her hands. "I still want you to know that I don't expect… that you don't have to… that I would _never_…" She realized that she was stammering and fell silent, biting her lip.

"_Ruta."_ With disbelief she heard the smile in his voice. The chair scratched over the floor, and all of a sudden she felt his hands. He was standing behind her, and warm fingers pressed against the rigid muscles of her hale shoulder and upper back. "Your honorable attempt to reassure me that I have to fear no consequences is truly heartening."

The smile was still there, but she was unable to study his face, to affirm that he was actually teasing her. He had parted the long, tousled strands in the back of her neck, and his fingertips wove a pattern of blissful pressure along her spine, gently holding her head down.

"Are you making fun of me?" She spoke through the curtain of her hair.

"No, of course not." His voice was serious and a little tired now, and his hands slid back to her shoulders, progressing further and gently stroking her neck and arms. Ruta leaned into his touch, a shiver of pleasure raising goose bumps on her skin. The warmth of his body behind her was like a firm bulwark against the chaos of her fears; she desperately wanted to put the old distrust against the destructive ways of her own heart aside and believe in whatever there might lay ahead for both of them. _How silly I've been_, she thought, _twenty-five years ago, when I mistook friendship and old affection for passionate love._ Now she knew the difference, but a deep fear of desiring, of demanding too much from this complicated man with his marred soul made her helpless and sealed her mouth.

"I have to leave for a while," he said, his palms resting lightly on her upper arms. "I'm waiting for a report Minerva promised to send me today. Just after Greyback's attack I asked her to do some detailed research in Durmstrang. They have books about the treatment of Werewolves I was never able to lay my hands on; some of them were written by Grigorij Grigoriev. That man is a legend; he taught there for nearly seventy years, and he has forgotten more about the curse of the moon than I ever knew."

Ruta felt the tension return into her body. "Why do you want to read those books?"

Stephen stepped back and turned to the window; thick clouds obscured the pale disk of the sun and made the day outside gray and dark. "I'm hoping for inspiration: Marcus Belby's Wolfsbane Potion may keep you from losing yourself completely to the change, but you are forced to spend your time during the full moon in the body of a wolf nonetheless. Perhaps further information might help me develop a draught that prevents you from having to change at all."

"That would be… marvelous," Ruta whispered; tears stung behind her eyes, and she closed her lips tightly against the words threatening to spill over. _I broke through all your defenses, I dragged you into the vendetta of a lunatic monster, made you come out of hiding, burdened you with the care for my well-being… and still you continue giving more than I could ever ask for. _

"Ruta."

Now he stood beside her, and when she looked up, she met his piercing gaze. "I told you to stop that, remember? And no, I didn't use Legilimency on you… it's easy enough to read your face."

Unexpectedly, the pressure on her heart eased, and her face relaxed in a smile. "Believe it or not, I don't feel uncomfortable at the thought of being an open book for you."

"Very good. That should make things a lot easier… for both of us." Suddenly he reached out and took her hands, lifting them to his mouth. It was a strange kiss, tender and nearly reverent. "Stop worrying, Ruta… whatever lies ahead, we should try to be optimistic." He paused. "If I have learned anything since I met you, it is that some confidence in the future certainly doesn't go amiss."

Her smile deepened. "Then I'll try to find that confidence in my heart, too."

"I should send you Winky, to prepare a bath for you and help you with your gown," he said, letting go of her hands and slowly walking towards the door. "She will want to assist you anyway… since you gave her those earrings, she has made your well-being her personal concern."

"I'm not sure if I'll need her. I think I can turn the handle of the bathtub faucet, and I can use my arm much more easily than I could even a week ago. It's time for me to be more independent. But…" She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. "… I might need your help with my hair."

He stood on the threshold, looking back with a sparkling light in his eyes. "I would be more than happy to do you the favor, Ruta. But if you want to do _me_ a favor… just keep it as it is." His lips twitched. "It is beautiful."

He vanished into the hallway, and a moment later the front door closed behind him. Ruta stood in the parlor unmoving, her face soft with wonder.

vvvvv

"Oh, _of course_ I know Ruta Lupin!" Eleanor Carpenter said, raising her voice to drown the noise of the hair blower. "Nice, friendly girl… though she keeps a bit too much to herself lately. But I guess that's more or less understandable, after such a _horrible_ accident."

"An accident?" The woman beside her – her head spiked with pin curlers – looked appropriately shocked. "What happened to her?"

Mrs. Carpenter surveyed the main room of Annie Archer's Beauty Salon. It was the only hairdresser in St. Mary Green, and – as usual on a Saturday morning – each and every single of the red chairs was occupied. Satisfied with the quantity of her audience, she continued:

"Andromeda Tonks told me that Ruta went to London, to visit her father. When she crossed a street in Bayswater, some drunk driver simply ignored her, and she got tossed onto the sidewalk. Her right arm has been paralyzed ever since… which makes things rather difficult for her, poor thing."

"Why is that?" The eyes of the woman in the next chair were filled with genuine concern.

"She had been working as a gardener in the big market garden over in Berwick. But with that arm… it's a shame, really, she has a fantastic hand with flowers, and it will be difficult to find someone else with her knack for roses. Since I've been buying her seedlings, I've had no more problems with mildew – not for nearly eight years!"

"When did she get hurt?"

Mrs. Carpenter's daughter, in for her weekly wash and perm, caught the cue.

"Two months ago. It was the night we had all that drama."

"Drama? In a place like this?"

"Oh, yes. Bernie Smithers made a hero out of himself by hunting down a monster." The mockery in her voice made it clear that she didn't have a very high opinion of the young constable.

"A _monster_?" The visitor seemed happy to be an audience for anyone who would talk.

Eleanor Carpenter caught back the reins of the conversation, shooting Annie Archer a gaze of disfavor through the stifling clouds of hairspray. "It wasn't a monster. It was a wolf. It came here at the end of August, wreaked havoc among my son-in-law's sheep and then killed an old man. People were really afraid… and then Bernie Smithers found that monster in the middle of the night and shot it, right beside the old oak in the middle of Mill Walk. And then a bolt of lightning went into the tree and burnt it to ashes, together with the wolf."

"Ruta must've made the trip to London exactly the same day, though," her daughter said, warming for the topic and impatiently waving Annie Archer's hand with the brush aside. "Minnie Smith told me that she visited her around noon, to fetch the aster plants she had ordered… amazing breed, they bloom until Christmas." She caught the gaze of the woman sitting beside her mother. "It was the 28th of August, and with all the excitement I don't think anyone even would have noticed that Ruta was gone from the village if Mrs. Tonks hadn't told us. How did you say you know her, Miss...?"

"Stone. Vicky Stone. I had no idea," the woman said, visibly shaken. Her pretty, oval face was pale. "Ruta and I, we were classmates, and really good friends. But after our graduation I lost track of her." She shook her head. "I even was in London at the end of August; I could at least have visited her in the hospital! Do you think she is well enough for a visit now?"

"I hope so," Mrs. Carpenter said, frowning. "During the last three days, I haven't seen her at all, now that I come to think of it. But can I tell you where she lives, if you like… it's barely a five-minute walk from here."

The woman smiled at her. "That would be absolutely lovely," she said.

vvvvv

Half an hour later Vicky Stone walked down the street, still congratulating herself for the idea to visit the local hairdresser: plenty of women with plenty of time for plenty of gossip. The information she had been able to gather even compensated her for the unacceptable, tacky hairdo and the unpleasant feeling of Muggle hairspray on her skin.

_A wolf, killed at the end of August. Ruta Lupin, ostensibly hit by a car in London at nearly the same time, and miraculously disappearing behind the walls of some unnamed hospital for more than a month. Ruta Lupin again, returning to this stupid little hick town and hiding in her house during the last three days._ She would have to check the moon calendar, as quickly as possible… but she could already feel the foreshadowing of a really great exposé, strong enough to make her fingertips prickle.

She saw the street sign saying Tulip Close and turned right, making her way down past two winter-bare gardens behind grey walls. It was easy to find Ruta Lupin's house; she saw neatly clipped rose bushes and a leafless weeping willow, but asters in warm colors were still lusciously blooming in a rectangular flowerbed. They framed a flagstone path leading to the entrance… and when Vicky was barely fifteen feet away from the garden gate, the door of the house suddenly opened.

Vicky hastily stepped back behind the cover of an unkempt rhododendron bush and waited, holding her breath. During the last days she had constantly been wondering how Ruta – the unimposing, _unbearable_ Ruta Lupin – might look after all those years…

But the person stepping out on the path was a man – a tall figure, a folded cloak over his arm, his head bare. _Black, short hair and a pale face, shockingly familiar…_ Vicky drew back deeper into the shadow of the bush, watching the stranger as he passed her by with long, fast steps… and then completely forgetting any care or caution as she hurried out on the sidewalk, staring after him.

"Great Merlin…" she whispered. _"Great Merlin!"_

She had spent nearly all her time during the past eight months doing the research for Rita Skeeter's newest book, and after viewing hundreds and hundreds of photographs, the features of the man that dubious biography would be about had deeply engraved in her memory.

Vicky Stone stood in the middle of Tulip Close, overwhelmed by a glorious feeling of triumph that made her heart race. With one stroke of her quill she could now tip the scales for two lives at the same time, and that sudden, unexpected power felt breathtakingly sweet.

_Ruta Lupin. And Severus Snape._

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

**Author's Notes**:

The title _Severus Snape - Scoundrel or Saint? _was not one of _my_ weird ideas. J.K. Rowling mentioned it (plus Rita Skeeter as the author of that doubtlessly horrible piece of writing) in a chat on July 30, 2007.

Catherine Monvoisin (also called _La Voisin_ or _Malvoisin_) is historical. She was born 1640 and died on February 22, 1680. Aside from the fact that she was no "real" witch in the Rowling-sense of the meaning, she was attracted to the Dark Arts, sold toxic love potions and performed Black Masses, during which she used the blood of newborn children (I'm really sorry, but that's historical, too).


	16. Lying In Ambush

Chapter Fifteen**  
Lying In Ambush**

The man behind the desk in the small, windowless office stared down at the neatly written duty roster with every sign of a surfeit of frustration.

Healer Phyllis Smith had asked for relief from her duties in the Janus Thickey Ward; the man's haggard face grimaced with bitter sarcasm at her justification. _"Smith states that she is unable to stand Gilderoy Lockhart's wish to perform endless signing sessions any longer, and given his sudden, bodily attack against her last week – caused by her refusal to read him the final chapter of _Year with the Yeti_ for the sixth time in a row – she claims that this 'makes her fear for her physical health and sanity'". _

As if taking care of that sorry excuse of a former celebrity was any problem. Smith had never worked on the First Floor, had never seen the wounds caused by a centaur's hooves, by a giant spider's sting, by the fangs of a werewolf. She had no idea of the _real_ risks of her own profession.

William Pemberthy gave a snort of disdain; he would recommend her transfer nonetheless, he simply had no choice. After that extremely disconcerting conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt at the beginning of October, he had to be very careful not to fall even further from favor. He remembered standing in Shacklebolt's office, defending his actions in the case of Ruta Lupin with piqued probity.

"_I have followed the mandatory procedure, Minister; the patient was neither hurt nor humiliated, and her complaint must be seen as a result of her personal antipathy towards me. I have no doubt that she misused her acquaintance with Harry Potter to question my professionalism."_

Kingsley Shacklebolt had studied him wordlessly for minutes, his face an ebony mask, revealing nothing about the thoughts beyond. Finally he spoke, the dark voice cool and firm.

_"If you are actually incapable of imagining what it means for an innocent victim to be chained against a bed, waiting for a change she is unable to prevent, the Dai Llewellyn Ward is not the right place for you. Miss Lupin nearly sacrificed her life to save a child. She deserved more respect than you were willing to give. And by the way – Harry Potter did not interfere; it was Lottie Stanhope who filed the complaint against you. You should be thankful I have decided against a thorough investigation of Miss Stanhope's accusation of unprofessional prejudice, at least for the time being. I might change my mind, however, should there be any future incident. The attitude shown by you was what caused the most severe damage during the times of Voldemort's return, and I must confess that I'm getting sick and tired of that kind of ignorance and stupidity."_

Within the week, William Pemberthy had to clear his office at the Dai Llewellyn Ward. It had taken him almost a decade to patiently work his way towards the position Hippocrates Smethwyck had occupied for thirty years until he retired in December 2005, and with barely veiled triumph he had exploited the fact that Augustus Pye – as the most presumable successor of Smethwyck – had decided instead for a year of medical research on magical snakes in Australia. (1) And now, after having been in that long desired leading position for scarcely a year, Pemberthy's dream was over. To his great anger and dismay, he suddenly found himself in a small office opposite the Tea Room, doomed to write long, trivial lists and handle the stupid lamentations of minor Healers unable to hold a candle to his skills and experience.

"Sir…?"

Pemberthy's head jerked up. He must have missed the knocking; the door stood half open, revealing the figure of a slender woman in her forties. She was obviously taking scrupulous care of her outward appearance; he saw an oval, pretty face with eyes of a remarkable bright grey, a delicate, upturned nose and full, rosy lips; her long, strawberry-blonde hair was held back by a blue circlet. She eyed him shyly.

"Excuse me, but are you William Pemberthy, provost of the Dai Llewellyn Ward?"

The affront felt like a fresh wound. "I am William Pemberthy, that much is correct," he said stiffly. "But I am no longer provost, Miss…?"

"Stone, Vicky Stone." The woman stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "I am sorry, Mr. Pemberthy. I didn't mean to insult you. I came here because you might be able to help me." She gave the chair in front of his desk a short look. "May I sit down?"

"Of course," he said, slowly growing curious. Her politeness and quiet respect was strangely uplifting. "What can I do for you, Miss Stone?"

"Answer a question or two, I hope. I'm a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_," she said, her expression open and straightforward. "But the research I'm doing right now is strictly private. I'm trying to discover something about the recent fate of a close friend of mine."

She sighed, a smile trembling around her lips.

"Well, at least she once _was_ a close friend," she continued. "We lost contact after we graduated from Hogwarts in 1980. Her name is Ruta Lupin."

"_Lupin…?"_

William Pemberthy stared at her, gasping for air; his first attempt of an answer was smothered by a sudden coughing fit. He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to dry his streaming eyes, while Vicky Stone waited patiently for him to regain his breath.

"I finally managed to ferret her out in the Lake District, one month ago," she said. "She has been working in a garden market there, and she helped Andromeda Tonks raise her orphaned grandchild... Remus Lupin's son. But something must have happened at the end of August; nobody was willing to tell me what it was. Finally Mrs. Tonks let slip out that Ruta had been in St. Mungo's for weeks… and she was obviously brought here only days after some mysterious creature was killed in St. Mary Green, close to where she lives."

She leaned in, her gaze sharp as a knife; William Pemberthy looked back, hypnotized by her eyes like the proverbial rabbit in front of a snake.

"Once again, Mr. Pemberthy… this research is strictly private. I will lay my cards on the table, and tell you that although I can assure you that I'm solely interested in Ruta's well-being, the Ministry officials and the administration of this hospital have both refused to help me, and my opportunities to find out the truth are growing limited. It may sound ridiculous and trite, but you really are my last hope."

William Pemberthy bravely tried to avert his eyes from the delicate face of the temptress in front of him. He was absolutely aware that it was strictly forbidden to forward any information to this woman he knew nothing about. The fact that she was working for a newspaper only added to the risk, no matter if Miss Stone's story rang heartbreakingly true… especially in this case. He highly doubted that Ruta Lupin would cherish finding her tragic fate publicly displayed as a sensational report in the _Daily Prophet_. And the official regulations of St. Mungo's contained a long list of penalties for Healers who forgot the strict pledge of confidentiality they had agreed to follow when signing their contracts.

_On the other hand… _

The fact that he, William Pemberthy, sat in this small, cramped office, buried under tons of forms and parchment rolls, was a direct result of Ruta Lupin's lack of gratitude and humility. He had done nothing wrong, and the thought that she actually dared to bear him a grudge for his distrust still filled him with a silent, seething anger. He knew that those newspaper harpies usually didn't give away their sources. The formidable Rita Skeeter was as famous for her discretion as she was for her horrible stories. Vicky Stone's intentions could be most honorable, after all, and he was probably safe - even if he decided to disobey the iron rules of his profession, only this once.

"Miss Lupin was here indeed, nearly the whole month of September," he finally said. "She was bitten by a werewolf and held under close supervision until the day of her first change."

"My goodness." Vicky Stones pale grey eyes were as big as saucers. "My goodness… poor Ruta." She swallowed. "Did you care for her all on your own? That must have been a real burden."

"It was mostly my responsibility to care for her, yes," he replied, her obvious adoration a balm on his sore soul. "But she was regularly visited by the Healer who had already cared for her during the night of the attack."

"Oh – really?" Vicky Stone eyed him hopefully. "And who was that?"

"Her name is Lottie Stanhope; she's a teacher at our Healing Academy," Pemberthy said, suddenly sobered by his own talkativeness. "But you won't be able to meet her; she has just left London for her annual winter holiday. And…" He squirmed on his chair. "… I must insist that this won't get any further. If I should discover any details in your newspaper, the consequences would be rather grave… for _both_ of us."

"Don't be afraid," Vicky Stone retorted with a dazzling smile. "You were a great help, and I won't give away my informant."

She rose from her chair and walked towards the door.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Pemberthy," she said; her eyes were shining with a mixture of satisfaction and a fierce joy he found slightly unsettling. "I am sure Ruta will be most happy to see me again."

Before he could find the right answer, she had already left the room, and he sat behind his desk, staring down at Phyllis Smith's application for transfer, still waiting to be signed.

Perhaps he had done Ruta Lupin a severe disservice. Perhaps this pretty woman with her pleasant manners was not a former friend but a future danger.

But even so… Ruta Lupin had demolished his reputation and ruined his career.

_And she was only a werewolf, after all._

vvvvv

The early November evening was cold and wet, and in St. Mary Green Ruta Lupin wrapped herself into a warm, woolen cloak, to visit Teddy and read him his usual bedtime story. She left _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ on the mantelpiece of her bedroom … but Teddy didn't mind. He was absolutely satisfied with the adventures of _Thomas the Tank Engine_, and he didn't let Ruta go before having invited himself to breakfast at her house for the very next morning. He fell asleep with a smug smile on his face, dreaming of Winky's cocoa and especially of her Danish pastry.

At the same time Vindictia Stone emerged from the shadows of Knockturn Alley, melting with the crowd of pedestrians and entering the _Leaky Cauldron_ with a group of elderly witches, returning from an extended shopping tour. She dodged the bulky shopping bags, closed her ears against the loud, satisfied chatting ("Ten silver sickles for a velvet cloak, Marge – the best bargain I've found in _weeks_!") and sat down in a silent corner. She waved the young waitress near, ordering a Greek salad and a glass of pumpkin juice; she wouldn't allow herself alcohol this evening. There was still too much to consider, too many traps to avoid. The fork midair, laden with bell pepper and feta cheese, she went through her plan once more.

Getting the information she needed from William Pemberthy had been almost too easy; she silently congratulated herself that her connections among the staff at St. Mungo's did still work as well as they had done in earlier times. Pemberthy's abasement had offered her the perfect weapon on a silver plate; the discovery of Lottie Stanhope was an extra bonus, and now Vicky kept it as the crucial ace up her sleeve. Pemberthy had not been the only one to provide her with important knowledge; Vicky knew everything about Lottie Stanhope's exact looks and the complaint now, and about the fact that it had been she and not William Pemberthy who supervised Ruta Lupin's first change. Ruta would likely consider Miss Stanhope an ally and friend, and Vicky could rely on her unsuspecting trust to carry out her intricate plan.

She felt the weight of the small leather bag in the secret pocket of her dark witch robe and withstood the temptation to check its content for the third time in a row. There were two little glass phials, carefully wrapped in pieces of soft cloth and purchased in a small shop in Knockturn Alley. The professional ethics of the owner, a certain Venemus Mountebank, would have made Corminus Slug's hair stand on end, but _Mountebank's Drugs & Potions_ was a well-known and enormously helpful address for those in need for certain herbs and draughts, especially if they were at the same time absolutely unwilling to care for the rules against misuse. Vicky vividly remembered her first visit at _Mountebank's Drugs & Potions_; it had been she who bought the _Veritaserum_ Rita Skeeter used to simplify the "interview" with Bathilda Bagshot for her biography about Albus Dumbledore. (2)

Now she had purchased _Veritaserum_ for the second time, and the other phial in her pocket was filled with a good dose of _Polyjuice Potion_; Mountebank always kept a cauldron of it bubbling in his cellar, for those who were able to pay the exorbitant price. Her biggest treasure, however, was a small, silver box with nothing in it but a fine strand of grey hair; Vicky smiled when she thought about her secret, little trip to the changing room of the Healers at St. Mungo's, her wand hidden in the folds of her cloak. It had been very easy to gain entry to Lottie Stanhope's locker. Her robe was washed and freshly ironed, with no fuzz or fiber whatsoever, but just as Vicky had been about to close the door again, her heart burning with disappointment, she had discovered the thin, almost invisible thread, caught in the latch and shining like silver.

She could still barely believe her luck that she was about to catch two birds with one stone… _simply with a strand of Lottie Stanhope's hair. _

Vicky Stone leaned back in her corner, emptying her plate with healthy appetite. She took in the refurbished taproom with a complacent eye. Things were definitely taking a turn for the better, even in the _Leaky Cauldron_. Again she waved the young waitress close.

She deserved a reward for her own finesse; one glass of red wine would certainly not be amiss.

vvvvv

"Oh no," Ruta stated firmly. "You won't eat _another_ one of those pastries."

Teddy tried to ignore her, mouth still full with the last, crisp artwork of dough, caramelized almonds and cinnamon icing; though it was rather difficult to look starved, stuffed as he was, he certainly did his best.

"But, Miss Ruta," Winky squeaked, her huge eyes fixed pleadingly at the lady of the house. "Master Teddy's still growing, isn't he?"

"If you continue feeding him everything within reach, he will gain enough weight to look like some oversized yeast dumpling," Stephen Seeker remarked, the laughter carefully hidden behind a serious face but clearly glittering in his black eyes. "And Master Teddy should put into consideration that being too fat will keep him from turning tail in case he's caught amidst of a prank."

Ruta smiled. "Do you remember what Uncle Harry told you about his cousin Dudley Dursley?"

Teddy's hand, reaching out for the last piece of Danish pastry with preserved pears and chocolate, stopped abruptly and was slowly drawn back; Harry's tales about "Dudders", his countless dirty tricks and his grotesque corpulence had left a strong impression. Winky took the plate and scurried back into the kitchen, the last sugary temptation vanishing out of sight. The boy unfolded his napkin, wiped his hand and mouth and gingerly took a sip from his apple juice.

"Winky's baking is even better than _Philemon Pistor's Pastries and Puddings_ in Diagon Alley," he said, giving a sated sigh and grinning at Stephen. "Auntie Ruta took me there on my first trip to London, last Christmas. And she bought me a bag of dragon muffins."

"And another one with chocolate pretzels," Ruta added. "You emptied both bags that night and had to skip every meal the next day because you felt thoroughly miserable… and your duvet was full of red and orange sugar splatters."

"Yes," Teddy admitted, still looking very satisfied, "because the marzipan dragons on top of the muffins spat icing after the very first bite. They were fantastic; once I had begun eating, I simply couldn't stop." He eyed Ruta thoughtfully. "Your favorites were their nougat éclairs, weren't they?"

"Indeed." Ruta laughed. "I'm glad that I don't live in London anymore. When I worked in Uncle Corminius' pharmacy, _Pistor's_ was a constant temptation to gluttony."

Teddy fell silent and took another sip of his apple juice.

"After that… after that night, I asked Gran Dromeda to take me to London," he suddenly said. "She had brought me to The Burrow, and Auntie Molly was really nice, but I wanted to see you. I wanted to go to _Pistor's_ and buy nougat éclairs for you, as a present, but Gran and Auntie Molly both said that the Healers at St. Mungo's would never let me in."

Ruta stared at him, and for a moment the wild image of Teddy, arguing with William Pemberthy, flashed clear and sharp in her mind… and yet another image, this time a real memory: of his pointing finger, his voice, shrill with panic, and the stench of singed fur.

_You won't hurt my aunt!_

She held both hands tightly clasped in her lap; she didn't want him to see how badly they were shaking.

"Dromeda was right," she said as gently as possible. "When I was brought to St. Mungo's, the Healers were afraid that I might change without the moon, like Fenrir Greyback changed that night. I was isolated and closely supervised. Harry managed to see me once, but he was the only visitor from the outer world." She swallowed, the memory of those bleak and frightening weeks running like ice water in her veins; so she tried to find a detail, harmless enough to be shared with the boy.

"There was Lottie Stanhope – a very nice, elderly lady," she finally continued, "the Healer who came here the morning after Greyback's death. She helped care for my wounds then, and while I was at St. Mungo's, she visited me with books… and a chessboard."

She turned and found Stephen looking at her.

"You played chess at St. Mungo's?"

"Yes," she said. "Your lessons were a great help. And Lottie was a good player… very _patient." _

His lips twitched. "In contrast to me, I suppose?"

"Oh no." Ruta smiled. "I enjoyed the challenge… same as you did."

"I remember that lady," Teddy piped in. "She was there when Gran allowed me to see you before she brought me to The Burrow. You were not awake then, of course… and there was this lady, with silver hair and lots of wrinkles around her eyes, and she smelled of lavender. She gave me butterscotch from her pocket and promised me that you would be well again."

"Yes, that sounds very much like Lottie."

Teddy shot Ruta a cautious gaze; she could literally see the thoughts milling in his head. His face was flushed, and he squirmed nervously on his chair.

"May I ask you something?" he suddenly said.

"You may ask me nearly everything, dear one," she answered earnestly.

"How does it feel to change into a wolf?" he blurted out. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but he didn't turn his eyes away. "Does… does it hurt?" He broke off, and then continued, speaking much faster. "I know that my f-father changed to a wolf every month, most of his life… but I can't ask _him_ anymore, can I?"

"No," Ruta agreed, her voice soft. "No, you can't."

She sat down on the sofa, shaken by the bluntness of his question. No one had ever dared to bring this up before, not Harry, not Ginny… and certainly not Stephen. _Stephen, who had once foolishly followed her cousin through the narrow passage beneath the Whomping Willow, mindless in his rage and burning need to discover Remus' dark secret._

As if the memory had drawn him to her, she suddenly felt his hand on her shoulder.

"It is true that you can't ask your father," he quietly said, "but I can tell you what he told _me_ about it."

Teddy's head jerked up, his eyes widening. Ruta opened her mouth to protest… _this could only be a lie, a fairy tale, spontaneously made up to spare her having to recall the memory, and perhaps even to comfort the child._ But then Stephen's fingers increased their pressure, and she reluctantly decided to be silent.

"Did you really know my father?" the boy asked, his voice breathless with surprise.

"I did," Stephen said. "And there was a time when I brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for him, too… not very long, though, only a few months. Shortly before he left, he came to me, to express his… erh… gratitude."

"Where did you meet him, and why did he have to leave?" Teddy wanted to know. "Was he in trouble?"

It took a while for Stephen to answer, and Ruta had to fight not to turn and to look at him. Finally he spoke.

"He was," Stephen said, simply. "The reasons were... complicated, and not of his making. And the story of why and how we met is too long for this morning." For a moment Ruta thought she felt a tremor in the hand on her shoulder. "That last day he came to me, to bid me goodbye, and he thanked me for making the potion. In fact, he gave a little speech."

Another pause, and Ruta could see that Teddy tried to imagine the scene. "What did he say?" the boy finally whispered.

Stephen sighed. "He said: You'll probably never fully understand what this has meant for me, but your draught held back the horror for almost a year, and for that fact alone I am in your debt. You will hopefully never experience how it feels when your body responds to the moon, when the fur breaks through your skin and your arms and legs shrink to paws while the bones crackle within your flesh like rotten firewood. Your help kept my spirit from slipping away into madness each month. I won't forget this.' And then he turned around and left the room."

Stephen looked at the boy, his face blank and pale.

"Does that answer your question?"

Teddy nodded solemnly. "Yes… thank you." He turned to Ruta, and for a short, staggering moment she saw Remus, watching her with love and pity, mirrored in the childlike features of his son. Suddenly she had a very clear idea how the boy would look like as a grown man. "That sounds awfully bad. I'm so sorry, Aunt Ruta."

"It _is_ bad, believe me," Ruta agreed. "I couldn't have described it more accurately."

Her voice broke, and she struggled for composure. Finally she trusted herself enough to speak again.

"Listen, Teddy… you should go now. Gran Dromeda is waiting for you. I can take you home, if you want."

"Oh… would you really?" Teddy jumped down from his chair, his usual, bouncy self again. "Ill go ahead and put on my coat."

"Good idea." She found that she was actually able to smile at him. "And don't forget the scarf."

"I won't." He was already at the door, when he hesitated and turned around to Stephen. "Thank you for telling me about my father, Mr. Seeker."

"Never mind," Stephen replied, his tone very calm. "Have a good day, Teddy."

The door closed behind the boy; they were alone in the silent room, and now Ruta looked at the man behind her with a feeling alarmingly close to anger.

"Did you really have to make this up?" she asked. "That was more than reckless – Teddy is smart, and even if he should not care for details now, and see this as nothing more than a romantic tribute to the memory of his father, he will certainly begin to ask questions some day!"

"Maybe," Stephen retorted, his voice brusque. "But the boy needs answers, and every good memory of his father that he can get." His lips formed a thin line. "And there was no need to make anything up. That is what Remus Lupin said to me the day he gave up his position as a teacher at Hogwarts."

"He…" For a moment she closed her eyes, as if she could make this unexpected revelation vanish by refusing to see it in his face. But when she looked at him again, it was still there, deeply etched in the tired lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth, petrified in his black, unsparing gaze. "Are you telling me that he found out that he had to leave after your vengeful… indiscretion… and that he came nonetheless, to _thank_ you?"

"Precisely," Stephen answered, his voice dry and tired. "Believe me, I remember his magnanimous speech word for word."

Ruta got up from the sofa and stepped over to the window. It was a cold and windy day, and the clouds above frayed out, showing changing patterns of a bright blue. She was glad that the small distance between them gave her the chance to collect herself. Stephen's surprising story – and Remus' words – had shocked her deeply, but instead of a fierce grievance she could only find sorrow and compassion in her heart.

_They had both failed him._

"Remus' father died eighteen years ago," she slowly said, her breath a white mist on the cool windowpane. "I hadn't seen him for more than five years, but I couldn't stay away from the funeral. I followed the coffin side by side with my own father, and all the time I secretly watched Remus' face. He was very quiet and composed, and we didn't exchange a single word until we had returned to his parents' house late in the afternoon. The few guests gathered in the kitchen, for a cup of tea and cake, and suddenly I found myself alone with him, in his mother's small sewing parlor. I had never seen anyone so lonely and sad in my entire life."

She paused, behind her only silence… but somehow she knew that he was listening.

"And from one moment to the next I couldn't bear it any longer. The old shame broke down on me like an unstoppable landslide, and I began to weep. I stammered out the story of my miserable misdeed, sobbing and desperate, mostly staring down at my hands because I hardly dared to look at him – while he stood in the middle of the room, as unmoving as a stone."

She swallowed laboriously.

"When nothing was left of my tale and my tears, I sat there spent and shivering, waiting for my judgment. And then I felt his hand; he stroked my head, as if I were as young as Teddy. 'Little one,' he murmured, 'for heaven's sake, little one, how could you bear this burden all those years?' Not one word about his _own_ burden, no accusation, not even a hint of anger. I have never been more ashamed. I vaguely remember one of the guests calling him from outside then; he went out of the room with a murmured excuse, and the moment of truth was over."

Her lips twitched as she relived the self-contempt she'd been harboring in her soul for more than twenty years. _Sometimes compassion and understanding only deepened the pain instead of healing the wounds._

"During the following years, Remus tried to bring up the matter once or twice. I guess it would have been much better to end that uneasy armistice, to come to a real peace between us. But I never dared take the chance. If I couldn't truly forgive myself, how on earth could he?"

Ruta turned around to Stephen.

"Do you remember what you said about 'lucky malefactors', when I first told you about my fake pregnancy?"

"Of course I do."

"I think we were both lucky." She spoke softly. "And we should learn to grant our old ghosts the rest they deserve."

Their eyes met, and she discovered something that looked suspiciously like a small smile.

"That sounds like a reasonable plan," he said. "But if I were you, I would hurry now, before that incorrigible boy is over the hills and far away."

"Oh." Ruta stared at him for a moment, then walked with fast steps towards the door. "Give me half an hour and I'll be back."

"Don't worry." Stephen gave a slightly mocking bow. "I won't go anywhere."

vvvvv

When Ruta stepped out of the house, Teddy beside her, most of the clouds were sailing towards the hills, and the lush, autumnal light of the midday sun gilded the grey walls of the houses along Tulip Close. Teddy blinked up to the sky and smiled.

"I want to go to the turntable tomorrow," he said. "I haven't been there for forever, not since… that night. We could have ice cream and lemonade and watch the train."

"Good idea." Ruta said, feeling the boy's fingers close around hers. They walked towards the bend of the street, and Teddy didn't speak for quite a while. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and realized that he was brooding over something. Suddenly he stood still, letting go of her hand.

"Mr. Seeker and my father… were they friends?"

_That was sooner than she'd expected._

"Why do you ask?" she answered, trying to play for time. How could she explain the bitter, complicated relationship of those two men to the boy? Should she do so at all or make up a tale… unlike Stephen who had told him at least a part of the truth?

"They must have been friends, I think, if Mr. Seeker brewed him the Wolfsbane Potion," Teddy mused. "He brews the Wolfsbane Potion for you because he is _your_ friend, doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't say that they were exactly friends," Ruta finally replied carefully. "Mr. Seeker was asked to help your father, and he agreed. But as he said, it's a complicated story. Will you do me a favor, Teddy?"

"What kind of favor?"

"Keep Mr. Seeker's tale to yourself. He only told you this detail to give you a clearer idea about werewolves… and I'm sure that the day will come when you'll learn about the rest… as soon as you are a bit older."

"How old?"

"You'll receive your letter from Hogwarts as soon as you're eleven. Wait until then, and I will tell you… if Mr. Seeker agrees, and if he doesn't want to do it himself."

"Promise?" Teddy's face was serious, and once more Ruta saw his father mirrored in the boy's eyes. She touched his cheek in a small, fleeting caress.

"Promise."

He gave her a brilliant smile, his quicksilver mind already turning to another interesting possibility. "Fine! Do you know what? I want to meet Miss Stanhope again. She was very friendly, and funny, too. And I bet she knows almost _everything_ about werewolves… after caring for you and working at St. Mungo's and all."

"We can visit her together someday, if you want."

They continued their way around the bend, towards Gardenia Close and Andromeda's house. At the sight of the blackened stump of the burnt oak they turned their heads away, hands tightly clasped, and walked a little more quickly.

vvvvv

Vicky Stone hastily withdrew into the shadow of a canopy when the tall woman and the child approached the corner of the street. She held her breath, trying to melt with the rough stones of the wall, and she watched them pass her by, their figures sharply drawn in the bright sunlight.

_So this is what she looks like now._

Since her last meeting with Fenrir Greyback Vicky had been most eager to see her old _nemesis_ again, had wondered if time had been merciful to her. Heaven knew how much effort it had taken to keep the grace and slenderness of her own body, the smooth surface that led so many of her contemporaries to underestimate the pitiless spirit behind the gentle, harmonious features.

Hm… Ruta hadn't run to fat, to say the least. Very slender, almost a bit too thin, although her hazelnut hair was marvelous, to give the devil his due. But there were silver streaks, many silver streaks – and with malicious satisfaction Vicky noticed the tired lines in Ruta Lupin's face. Still, Ruta kept herself very upright, moving with the natural lissomness of someone used to spend their time working outdoors; only her right arm looked odd, hanging down stiff and possibly useless.

"… would like to see Miss Stanhope again. She was very friendly, and funny, too. And I bet she knows almost everything about werewolves… after caring for you and working at St. Mungo's and all."

"We can visit her together…"

Voices and steps faded, and Vicky remained where she was, her heart beating wildly. Instinctively she felt for the phials in her pocket.

Suddenly the outline of a new plan appeared in front of her inner eye, glorious and shiny... and much less dangerous. Why try to confront Ruta directly? That would probably mean having to face Severus Snape, too, and Vicky Stone knew too much about him to take such a hazard. But if she turned her attention to the _boy_ instead...

_He wanted to see Miss Stanhope? Merlin's beard, she would love to do him the favor. _

_And it would be more than thrilling to find out what he was able to tell her._

vvvvv

Ruta was gone less than ten minutes and Seeker had settled in the most comfortable chair with the Daily Prophet, when all of a sudden something banged against the parlor window. He peered outside and discovered a large screech owl, busily fluttering up and down and staring at him with annoyed, yellow eyes. Seeker pushed the window open.

The bird hopped inside, ruffling its feathers with an air of offended grandeur. But it allowed Seeker to pull the small piece of parchment out of the tube on its leg and returned to sit on the windowsill. To his mystification, Seeker found his own name on the outside of the parchment; he unrolled it and read the scribbled message.

**Mr. Seeker, **

**Can you come to Berwick immediately? Someone has done research about Ruta in the Werewolf Registry, and used a false name to sign the visitors' book. There might be danger in delay. **

**H.P. **

He stood without moving for several minutes. _A false name in the visitors' book?_ The Werewolf Registry had always been an easy source for blackmail and denunciation… no wonder that even some of the most benevolent victims of the curse had grown bitter and distrustful, giving more and more credit to Greyback's hateful lies.

Seeker felt a sharp sting of frustration at his own lack of knowledge on the matter. Perhaps the rules had changed under Shacklebolt. Perhaps the Ministry had decided to give werewolves a better protection against the bigotry and abhorrence of the Wizard World. And if that were the case, and if there was an unknown enemy, eager to uncover Ruta's tragic fate…

"Winky?"

The house-elf appeared in the doorway almost immediately.

"What does Master wish?"

"I told Miss Ruta that I would stay here and wait for her return. But I just received an urgent note and have to leave at once. Please tell Miss Ruta not to worry, I will come back as soon as I can. And, Winky…"

"Yes, Master?"

"Tell her not to leave the house."

The huge, pale eyes flashed in alarm. "Is Miss in danger?"

"I don't know yet," Seeker said slowly. "Perhaps."

He concentrated on the Potters' cottage in Berwick, on the red door with the brass knob, shaped like a lion's head. _Very appropriate for the home of two Gryffindors_. He felt the magic carry him away, and the last thing he saw was Winky's concerned frown.

vvvvv

"Harry, sit _down_, for heaven's sake!" Hermione Weasley said. "If you keep up like this, you'll wear a path in the carpet."

"Sorry." Harry Potter pulled the curtain aside for the fifth time in five minutes. "But he must have read the message by now. Why isn't he already here?"

"Oh please," Hermione sighed. "Socrates is no express owl; give him a bit more time."

A sharp _Bang!_ came from outside, and she straightened her back, instinctively turning her head to the door. Harry saw that she licked her lips and shoved a strand of hair that had escaped her thick ponytail back behind her ear. He shot her an ironical gaze.

"You aren't nervous, are you?"

"No, why should I be?" Hermione snapped. "The last time I saw Professor Snape was when you caught his memories in a flask, only seconds before he died… well, before he _didn't._ No need to be excited, none at all."

The brass knob banged against the front door, and she fell silent, breathing deeply. Harry went out into the vestibule and opened the door, and the tall shadow of Stephen Seeker darkened the threshold.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

"Good morning, Mr. Seeker," Harry replied. "I hope you'll excuse the abrupt summons, but we think we really have a reason to worry."

"Do we?" Seeker followed him into the living room and caught sight of Hermione, who stared at him with widened eyes. "Good morning, Miss Granger… excuse me, Mrs. Weasley."

"O… of course." Hermione swallowed. "It really _is_ you! I was terribly curious, you know… but I should have thought that you had some kind of emergency plan up your sleeve, in case the Dark Lord decided to kill you… and the Draught of the Living Dead really was the most appropriate choice, wasn't it?"

"Well done," Seeker answered, giving her a small bow. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

He sat down on the sofa opposite to Hermione, who looked decidedly flabbergasted. No wonder, Harry thought, meeting Snape as a teacher had always meant being either insulted or ignored, and now nearly the first thing that the man had said to her came startlingly close to a compliment.

"Hermione works at the Ministry," Harry explained, "and after Greyback's attack we decided that she should keep a close eye at the visitor's book of the Werewolf Registry. The story how of Greyback died is entirely too juicy not to be delicious bait for some ambitious newspaper hack."

Seeker frowned. "You thought of Rita Skeeter?"

"We thought of anyone able to hold a quill," Hermione said with a grimace. "But journalists are not permitted to check the entries in the Werewolf Registry, not since Kingsley Shacklebolt came into office… nor anybody else, not without a special permit. When I decided late last evening to check the recent entries, I found a fresh signature… a certain Lottie Stanhope."

"Lottie Stanhope?" Stephen Seeker shook his head. "That's… interesting."

"Yes, it is," Hermione agreed. "Especially since Lottie Stanhope is the person who put Ruta down in the registry in the first place. As the first expert healer to deal with the wounds, she was responsible for seeing that the entry was made. And there are no newer entries after Ruta, either."

"Good point."

"Thank you," Hermione answered, once more eyeing her former teacher with disbelieving consternation. "I got curious and decided to ask Miss Stanhope in person. And do you know what I discovered?"

"I have no idea," Seeker said, leaning back on the sofa. "But you will tell me at once, I presume."

"Lottie Stanhope is not in England," Hermione declared. "She left for her winter holiday two days ago… to Adelboden in Switzerland."

"Which would of course mean…"

"… that the person signing the visitor's book can't have been Lottie Stanhope!" Hermione finished the sentence triumphantly. "So I took the… ahm… liberty of making a copy of the page in question. I… erh… left it there and brought the original."

"I can't imagine anyone would grant you an extra permit for _this._" Seeker's eyebrows rose towards his hairline, and he surveyed Hermione with a kind of amused respect.

"No." Hermione had the grace to blush. "But I thought this special situation might require special measures." She produced a rolled piece of parchment from a leather bag beside her chair. "Here…"

Stephen took the parchment and unfurled it on the table. He found four names in the column for the signatures; he didn't know the first three, and their visits dated back more than two years. And there was Lottie Stanhope's name, too, written with clear, round letters and a small, merry flourish at the end of the last "e". He turned the page and found half a dozen entries on the flipside. There was Lottie Stanhope's name again, from a visit in 2001. The signature looked exactly the same as the one from last night.

"Well," he slowly said, following the flourish with a long finger. "If this was not Miss Stanhope, who misused her name to search the register for Ruta's entry, then?"

"May I?" Hermione leaned over the parchment, pulling her wand out of her loose sleeve. She touched the signature with the tip.

"_Nomen verum revelio!"_

The letters seemed to dance on the parchment, and when they settled down again, their shape had changed dramatically. They were steep and arrogant, forming the name _Vindictia Stone._

"Vindictia Stone?" Harry asked, increasingly confused. "Who for heaven's sake is Vindictia Stone? And where do you have that spell from?"

"Research, during our holiday in France," Hermione replied modestly. She pulled a folded newspaper out of her bag. "And Vindictia Stone is a journalist. Look at this: MUGGLES AND THEIR BAD INFLUENCE ON WIZARD SOCIETY. It is an article from January 1998; terrible nonsense, besides, but she scrupulously follows the principles of the Ministry at that time. Rita Skeeter was still _persona non grata_ that year, because of her story about you in the _Quibbler_."

Stephen Seeker rubbed his chin, face watchful and pensive. "So Miss Stone wrote for the _Daily Prophet_. And whom does she write for nowadays?"

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted, actually looking ashamed.

"But _I_ have." The voice came from behind; it was Ginny Potter, standing behind the sofa and carrying a tea tray. Her eyes shone with excitement; she placed the tray on the table with so much forceful momentum that Seeker only saved the parchment just in time from being soaked with hot _Darjeeling_.

"Three weeks ago, I went to London, to check my chances of getting a paid internship at the _Daily Prophet_," Ginny said. "Kreacher has nearly finished the refurbishment of Grimmauld Place – he returned here yesterday - and if we should move there next year, I might have the chance to gain some journalistic practice." (3)

She smiled at Seeker.

"The _Daily Prophet_ finally needs some decent reporters, I think, and I've always loved writing… though I'm mostly interested in writing about sports," she continued. "And when I met Barnabas Cuffe for a talk, I also made the acquaintance of Vicky Stone. She is still working for the _Prophet_, though she doesn't write many articles right now. She is Rita Skeeter's personal assistant."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I actually found her rather nice; a pretty woman, about Ruta's age, but she certainly spends more time in front of a mirror." Ginny saw Seeker's gaze, turned bright red and bit her lip. "I'm sorry… I didn't want to say that Ruta…"

"I have a rather clear image of what you wanted to say," Seeker said, the shadow of a grin curling his lips. "Never mind. So Miss Stone was a nice, pretty woman – what else do you know about her?"

Suddenly Ginny's eyes turned round, and one of her hands flew up to her mouth in dismay.

"My goodness," she whispered. "She told me that she was about to finish doing research for Skeeter's latest book."

"Sounds very much like Rita," Harry remarked dryly, "to have someone else for the donkey work. What kind of book is it? Yet another of her horrible biographies?"

"Yes," Ginny said, staring at Seeker. "A biography of Severus Snape."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

**Author's Notes:**

(1) Augustus Pye was the Healer who tried to cure the snakebite Arthur Weasley received with Muggle medicine. Therefore I thought he might find some extra studies rather useful. ;-)

(2) I didn't make that up. Rita Skeeter did use _Veritaserum_ on Bathilda Bagshot (which was certainly not very healthy for a woman of her age).

(3) In later years, Ginny Potter started a career as a sports reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ (according to J.K. Rowling).

Oh - and a heartfelt Thank you to all my readers for their faithfulness, their uplifting reviews and their amazing patience. Don't despair - the story is finally FINISHED, having grown to the staggering number of nineteen chapters (after I had originally planned to write only eight...).


	17. The Beast Within

Chapter Sixteen  
**The Beast Within**

Vicky Stone stood hidden behind the thick, knotted branches of a leafless hedge while she watched Ruta Lupin embrace Teddy before sending him back into his grandmother's house. She saw Ruta leaving through the garden, with the easy, relaxed walk of someone who doesn't need to hurry. Now she had a much better view of her face… and she still found it overly plain and boring. _How did Severus Snape come to know Ruta? Were they friends… or was it even possible that he bedded her? _

Vicky suppressed an excited giggle, her hand closing around the phial of Polyjuice Potion. It didn't really matter if they were only allies or actually spent their nights together. As soon as she had the information she was craving she would give her imagination full scope and combine facts and mere rumors freely for the sake of the roaring success she was dreaming of. Who cared for the truth anyway?

She followed Ruta with her eyes until she saw the other woman vanishing around the bend. It was highly improbable that Ruta would come back any time soon; this was the moment Vicky had been waiting for. She drew back deeper into the shadow of the hedge, opened the phial and at the same time the small silver box. She slipped the last, gossamer-thin thread of hair into the mud-colored fluid and saw it change its color to the clarity of water. Then she emptied the phial with one long gulp.

Vicky closed her eyes, stoically enduring the unpleasantness of the change; she didn't forget to pull a small mirror out of her handbag, to quickly control her outward appearance. Again she felt a sharp, piercing shock at the sight of grey hair and wrinkles; _Merlin forbid that she would ever allow time to do so much damage to her own face._ But a few wrinkles for an hour would be worth it. If she really gained a fortune with the story she was about to tell, she would have the means to preserve her own precious loveliness for many years to come.

She took a deep breath, smoothed the gray robe (grey hair _and_ grey garments; the old hag really had no taste whatsoever!) and walked the last few yards down the road until she reached Andromeda Tonks' garden gate. She crossed the garden, stood in front of the door and pulled the chain. A melodious jingle came from inside, then she heard footsteps. The door opened, and Teddy Lupin blinked up at her, open joy shining in his eyes when he recognized her transformed face.

"You… you are Lottie Stanhope, aren't you? We talked about you, Aunt Ruta and I… you just missed her! I had breakfast with her this morning, you know, and she brought me home."

He gave her a dazzling smile and turned to call back into the house.

"Gran Dromeda, look who's come for a visit!"

"Hello Teddy," Vicky Stone said with a benevolent smile. "I'm very glad to see you again. May I come inside?"

vvvvv

The silence in the Potters' parlor was heavy and full of unspoken misgivings. Finally Seeker stirred, his lips twitching. "And does Miss Skeeter's latest travesty already have a title?"

Ginny looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Yes," she murmured, her voice balancing on the edge of a nervous giggle. _"Severus Snape - Scoundrel or Saint?"_

"Brilliant", Seeker remarked acidly. "Too bad that I can't come back as a ghost to haunt that insufferable cow."

Harry laughed, trying to break the tension.

"If Skeeter's biography about you is as bad as the one about me, I can only hope that you'll never actually have to read it. I read _mine_, and it took me weeks to recover."

_"Harry."_ Ginny's voice had a sharp edge. "Don't you understand? It may well be that Ruta is not the only one under observation. A story about the cousin of the 'faithful Werewolf", fallen under the same curse as he did, may be a juicy piece of gossip – but imagine the sensation if that woman is able to add Severus Snape's resurrection to the cocktail!"

"I wonder which came first," Stephen Seeker said thoughtfully. "Did the Stone woman seek for some unknown facts - or attractive rumors - about Snape… and then discovered Ruta Lupin as an extra bonus? Or was Ruta her aim from the very beginning?"

"And why?" Hermione added. "If this is some kind of revenge, Ruta must have made a formidable enemy of her. But when?" She ran both hands through her hair, making a mess of her ponytail.

"Wait a moment…" Seeker slowly said. "Vindictia Stone... Vindictia... _Vicky_ Stone. Ravenclaw. She was hanging about the edges of Slughorn's coterie when I was in my seventh year. He used to waffle on about her delightful knack with love potions." He rubbed his nose, eyes half closed in concentration. "Ruta was in the same year… and in the same house. She might have gotten into her way somehow."

"Ruta?" Harry looked at him, frowning. "But she's better at Herbology than Potions – I mean, she created the mildew potion, but that was twenty-five years ago, and besides, how likely is it that this Stone woman has held a schoolyard grudge for that long?"

He met Seeker's gaze, and the bone-deep irony in the black eyes hit him like a blow.

"Do you really need an answer to that question?" Seeker asked, speaking very softly.

"No." Harry cast down his eyes. "I guess not."

Silence fell over the room. When Seeker spoke again, his voice was gentle with reminiscence.

"Vicky Stone. She can't have been entirely innocuous, even as a student. Lily helped her for a while with her class work. But by Christmas I believe the arrangement had fallen apart. And Stone was definitely one of the students who got stripped of points after that debacle in the Great Hall. I don't think she ever had the temerity to approach your mother after that."

"You're not sure?" Harry asked, and Seeker's face darkened.

"No." He spoke calmly, but his tension was more than obvious. "By that time, Lily and I only spoke to each other when it was absolutely unavoidable. But I witnessed the scene in the Great Hall." A very small smile. "Your mother was marvelous. I don't think I've ever seen so many young idiots disabled with so few spells by a prefect before or since."

He rose from his chair.

"I think I should contact Minerva McGonagall; she can give us further details about Miss Stone's school career… and she may be able to find out how well Ruta and Vindictia knew each other."

"Ahm… _McGonagall?"_ Harry asked, barely able to trust his ears. "Does that mean that she _knows_…"

"Yes, it does, Mr. Potter." Seeker looked at him. "You may congratulate yourself on discovering my secret ally at Hogwarts." He got to his feet and started toward the fireplace.

"Not that one," Harry said hastily, still trying to digest this newest and most spectacular piece of information. "You'll need to use the fireplace in my study: we use the Floo network in there because its easier to lay in more protections in a room where... uhm..." Harry realized he was floundering and turned to find his wife smiling at him with mild amusement. "Would you show him the way, love?"

Ginny left the room, Stephen Seeker in her wake, and Harry poured himself a cup of tea, his head spinning.

Minerva McGonagall. _That was unbelievable. _

vvvvv

Five minutes later they were back.

"She will consult the archive and the yearbooks, and Flitwick," Seeker said. "We'll hear from her within the hour."

"We must warn Ruta soon, "Ginny piped in. "But Andromeda should be warned, too. I've been thinking, and if Lottie Stanhope has been in the Werewolf Registry before, they must know what she looks like. Perhaps Miss Stone has found someone who sold her _Polyjuice Potion_… which would enable her not only to use Miss Stanhope's signature but her identity, too. And Dromeda would certainly trust a person who appeared on her doorstep, wearing Lottie Stanhope's face."

"Entirely possible," Seeker replied grimly.

"I can go," Hermione offered. "It would be better if you," she looked at Seeker, "stayed out of sight for a few days – in case that Vicky Stone really is trying to complete her research in St. Mary Green. She might not know me but she definitely knows you."

"She knows me, too," Ginny said, "but I can play the harmless housewife any time. And if she really shows up as Lottie Stanhope, we ought to be able to delay her until she's forced to change back to her real form."

"That could be dangerous," Harry said, deeply frowning.

"The Battle at the Ministry was dangerous, too," Ginny said, taking his hand. Her gaze was clear and sharp, "So was the Battle at Hogwarts. You and I, we are still a part of Dumbledore's Army… and this time I don't mean to sit at home and wait for you to return from the fight… or not."

Harry sighed, torn between pride and annoyance. "Okay… I'll tell Kreacher to keep an eye on James while he's taking his midday nap."

"He'll be delighted," Ginny retorted with a grin. "He's been sorting the cellar for nearly two hours now… a task far beneath his dignity."

"We shouldn't wait much longer," Seeker said, his eyes troubled and absent-minded. "I don't like the thought that Ruta Lupin might have to face an old foe in disguise… she's still unable to use her wand."

vvvvv

Ruta stood in the back garden of her cottage in Tulip Close; she had made a small side-trip on the way home, walking along the stalls of the weekly farmer's market. In her wicker basket she carried eggs, a good chunk of cheddar and a generous piece of smoked bacon. Perhaps she could take a handful of leeks from her green house and ask Winky to cook a leek pie – though she would certainly not be hungry for quite a while, not after that huge breakfast with Teddy.

She was just about to enter the kitchen through the garden door when she discovered Teddy's long fringed scarf, draped over her old rake. So the boy _had_ forgotten his scarf after all… and she hadn't noticed it while she accompanied him back to Andromeda.

"Great aunt, are you?" she scolded herself, but she wasn't really irritated; the sun was more than pleasant, and if she took Teddy's scarf and returned it to that small muddler, she would have the chance to spend even more time in fresh air. After far too many weeks of being an invalid and the shock of the last full moon she felt nearly _normal_ today – her body hungered for the exercise it had been accustomed to for most of her life. And it would take her only twenty minutes more if she walked fast.

She pulled Teddy's scarf from the rake and wound it around her neck. Then she took the path to the front side of the house again, leaving the basket beside the rake. It was cool enough outside, and she would be back very soon anyway.

Ten minutes later she had reached Andromeda's house. She walked to the door and pulled the chain, waiting for Teddy or Dromeda to open it, a blithe remark ready on her tongue – but no one came. She pulled the chain again, but everything remained silent.

Ruta tried the knob; the door swung back and she stepped into the empty vestibule. Small grains of dust were dancing in a spot of golden sunlight.

"Teddy?"

Ruta went towards the kitchen; where she heard the murmur of a female voice.

"Dromeda?"

She entered the room… and froze.

Teddy was sprawled precariously between his chair and the table, with his head on his plate and one limp arm dangling ominously. A glass had tipped over beside his shoulder; a thin rivulet of pumpkin juice ran over the edge of the table and slowly dribbled down onto Andromeda's usually spotless tiles. Ruta could see his face; it was pale and lifeless, eyes half closed.

In two quick steps she was beside him, raising his head with trembling hands. His breathing was heavy and stertorous.

"Merlin, _Teddy_." She stroked his cheek with her good hand, and then felt for his pulse. It was alarmingly slow. "Teddy, _for goodness sake_…"

"Hello, Ruta."

She whirled around and saw the woman, emerging from the shadows behind the kitchen door, wand drawn. _Lottie…? Could that be Lottie Stanhope?_ But there was something weird, something decidedly wrong… streaks of a reddish blonde, interspersing the grey, familiar hairdo and multiplying under her shocked gaze, and the features were blurring like the roiling water in a muddy maelstrom. _Who…_

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The spell hit her with full force; she stumbled back and crashed against the wall. A terrible pain shot down her spine. Ruta struggled to move, but she had no chance against the magic. She stood rigid as a broomstick, staring at the stranger who was rapidly losing at least twenty years of age while watching her with greedy excitement.

"Do you remember me?" her attacker asked, stepping close and looking into Ruta's widened eyes. "You don't? Never mind; you'll understand very soon, my dear. We have plenty of time."

vvvvv

Hermione and Ginny Apparated to Tulip Close barely ten minutes later. To enter the house through the front door proved to be impossible… the vestibule was flooded with soapy water, and Winky was joyfully conducting a cleaning mop criss-cross over the tiles; she assured them that she hadn't seen Miss Ruta for a while, but that she would doubtlessly be back from her errands very soon. They decided to try the back garden; again, no Ruta – but Ginny discovered the basket beside the rake and quickly scanned the contents.

"Ruta _was_ here, then!" she said with a frown. "These groceries are fresh, she must have just fetched them home… but why didn't she go inside? Do you think something happened?"

"If she'd dropped the basket, the eggs would be broken," Hermione objected. "Perhaps she just forgot something. We can walk from here to Andromeda's house… with any luck we'll head Ruta off."

The two young women took the way down the road, craning their necks in all directions, but by the time they had reached Gardenia Close they still hadn't seen any sign of Ruta or Vicky Stone.

Andromeda Tonks' house seemed strangely deserted. A window on the first floor stood wide open, though, the curtain fluttering in the fresh breeze.

"That's odd," Ginny said, blinking into the bright sunlight. "That is her bedroom, and it's not like Dromeda to let the autumn chill in that way. Beside her impressive knowledge about housekeeping magic, she's a true font of warming spells."

"Hmmmm…" Hermione rubbed her nose. "Perhaps she's getting absent-minded in her old age."

"Andromeda? _Never_." Ginny snorted. "She has the memory of an elephant. Laugh if you want, but I'd prefer to be careful. – What is _that?_"

She stepped down from the path and fished a small cushion out of Dromeda's biggest aster bed. It was made of velvet and decorated with fine embroidery… nothing anyone would want to leave outside on a cold, damp day in October.

"I'm definitely not laughing," Hermione said, staring up at the window with narrowed eyes. "I wonder where that came from… and if she accidentally dropped it, why didn't she come to bring it back into the house? Let's sneak inside and have a closer look; if everything is fine, Dromeda may tease _both_ of us."

The door wasn't locked, and they entered the house with soft steps. The vestibule was empty, and – like Ruta before – they noticed the open door to Teddy's room. Everything looked perfectly normal; Ginny was just about to open her mouth to call for Teddy's grandmother when suddenly a strange sound came from upstairs.

"Did you hear that?" Hermione whispered.

"Yes, I did," Ginny gave back, drawing her wand. "Listen, Hermione… I'll go up and check the situation and you stay here and keep watch."

She scurried up the steps and was gone. Hermione took cover, soundlessly working her way behind the bendy branches of the giant weeping fig that was Andromeda's pride and joy, and at the same time listening for any sign from upstairs. There was a voice coming from the kitchen. It was a woman, but she spoke softly, and Hermione wasn't hiding close enough to the door to understand what she was saying. For a moment she longed for a pair of George Weasley's Extendable Ears… and then she jumped when a hand closed around her upper arm.

"For Merlin's sake!" she breathed, lowering her own wand again before the tip could bump against Ginny's nose. "Don't do that to me ever again!"

At the sight of the expression on her friend's face her mouth snapped closed. She took a deep breath. "What…?"

_"Dromeda."_ Ginny whispered, lips tickling her earlobe. "She's upstairs in her bedroom, trussed up like a Christmas turkey."

_"Oh."_ Hermione felt a twinge of panic. "We're too late! Did you free her?"

"No," Ginny retorted. "I got the gag out, but Vicky Stone used very tricky magic. Touch the bindings with a spell and they get _tighter_ – and yes, she appeared here disguised as Lottie Stanhope. She stunned Andromeda and hauled her upstairs. Dromeda kicked the cushion out of the window, hoping that someone might notice it and understand that something was amiss. "

Hermione turned towards the kitchen. "What about Teddy?"

"No sign of him," Ginny grimly murmured. "He must be in the kitchen with _her_. I don't think we can risk waiting for Harry and Snape to turn up, can we?"

"Absolutely not," Hermione said, disentangling herself from the ficus. She tiptoed over to the door, pressed down the handle and pushed gently. Ginny stood behind her, listening with bated breath.

"…twenty years." The voice which Hermione had heard before drifted out of the kitchen, now clearly understandable. "Twenty years of writing for page three, of proofreading the garbage of wannabe-authors and brewing coffee for that old idiot Cuffe. And then I was 'promoted' to play second fiddle to Rita Skeeter, of emptying her wastebasket and watching her reaping the rewards of my dirty work." A sharp laugh. "And all because you couldn't keep your mouth shut about that book. I was improving Monvoisin's recipes! I could have been the best potions teacher Hogwarts ever saw, instead of that greasy Death Eater of yours. Oh, yes, I know about him. I saw the look on his face when he walked out your door."

"Who on earth is she talking to?" Ginny whispered.

"I have no clue," Hermione whispered back, holding out her wand. "But we'll find out - NOW!"

The door flew open and the two young women burst into the room. They saw Teddy, collapsed over the table, and a woman with red-blonde hair who jerked back at their sudden appearance, her face a mixture of sheer consternation and rage. And they saw Ruta Lupin, her back against the wall, hands raised in helpless, frozen defense.

Ginny turned to the stranger. _"Expelliarmus!"_

vvvvvv

"Of course I remember Vindictia Stone," Minerva McGonagall said, carefully wiping some stray flakes of ash from her glasses. She had arrived in Harry Potter's study five minutes ago, carrying a huge leather portfolio. "Pretty thing… always looked and behaved as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. If you caught her out in class she'd invariably try big eyes and an air of injured honesty. But since you ask me, I think she was overambitious, conniving and lazy. And smart, too… very smart. But she constantly used her wits to avoid using her brain. You should look at this first, I think."

She chose a sheet from the slim stack of parchments in the portfolio and handed it to Harry.

AWARD FOR EXCELLENCE, Harry read, written with golden letters, and then RUTA LUPIN. His eyes hastily scanned the text, catching: "… _for a brilliant essay about the use of mandragora vernalis…"_ and _"… extraordinarily gifted student any school may righteously be proud of…"_, and finally coming to rest on the jaunty signature of the Headmaster. _Albus Dumbledore._

He did his best to absorb the familiar sting of pain, heritage of a bitter war and the loss of the man he had looked up to most in his youth.

"'Dromeda's mentioned this. But what has it to do with Vindictia Stone? And wasn't it after their last year?"

"1980, yes," Minerva McGonagall said, studying another sheet. "However, it was no secret that Vicky Stone was also in contention for the award. They were classmates, in Ravenclaw. Miss Stone began to sell love potions during her fifth year, and with great success. She was one of Slughorn's… protégées for the rest of her school career."

Harry saw the exchange of glances between McGonagall and Seeker: it seemed that their opinion about the former potions teacher was more than in accord.

"Something must have happened during the last months before the N.E.W.T.'s that year, though," McGonagall continued, "for in June 1980 Vicky Stone was summoned to the Headmaster's office for breaking into Ruta's school chest and burning the original text of her essay and every single note."

Harry blinked. "She did… _what?"_

"She burned the text of Ruta's essay," McGonagall calmly repeated. "But a clean copy had already been sent to the editor of _Magical Herbology Today._ It was published and well-regarded, and Miss Stone's vandalism backfired on her. She escaped being expelled by a hairsbreadth, and Ruta never found out who had played that particularly nasty prank."

"Why didn't they tell her?" Harry asked in honest confusion. "She should have known, shouldn't she?"

Seeker shook his head.

"Dumbledore always had a very… _special_ way of handling the truth," he said. "And he was rather obsessive about giving hopeless cases a second chance." His lips curled in a slim, crooked smile, and Harry saw it mirrored briefly in McGonagall's eyes.

"Can we be sure that this is personal?" he said. "Perhaps it is only a reporter's greed for a juicy tale."

"That would be bad enough," McGonagall retorted, "and dangerous to boot." She leafed through the stack of papers again. "But I asked Filius Flitwick about that confrontation with Miss Stone in Dumbledore's office, back in June 1980. As her head of house, he attended, of course. And he remembered quite vividly that on the walk back to the dormitories afterwards Miss Stone was furious about Ruta; she was absolutely convinced that it was her fault that her school career ended this miserably. 'It was she who grassed me,' he's sure she said and something along the lines of 'pay her back in spades someday'. Not very clever, of course, although she had had the sense not to rant in front of Albus. Still it wasn't the wisest thing to start muttering within earshot of her head of house."

"Absolutely stupid," Harry agreed.

"Very true. He kept an eye on Vicky after that, but she never tried anything, and he had hoped she'd forgotten about the whole matter. Even Ravenclaws do, sometimes, you know." McGonagall shoved the sheets back into the portfolio. "I have to leave now… I have scheduled a meeting of the staff in my office within the next ten minutes, and I guess I'd better be back in time. Keep me up to date, if you please. "

"Of course, Minerva." Seeker said, a deep, vertical fold between his eyebrows.

She put the portfolio on the table, nodded at him and gave Harry a smile, then stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

"I think we should get to St. Mary Green and prepare to defang Miss Stone, as quickly as possible." Impatience radiated from Seeker's form in palpable waves, and Harry found his concern more and more contagious.

"Give me just a moment," he said. "I'll tell Kreacher where we're going."

vvvvv

_"Relaschio!"_

Hermione pointed her wand at the rigid figure leaning against the wall. Ruta's limbs relaxed abruptly; she gave a small yelp of pain and slipped down to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, still keeping Vicky Stone in check. "Did she hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Ruta snapped, pushing herself quickly upright again. "But Teddy! And Dromeda? Have you seen Dromeda?"

"She's upstairs," Hermione said. She'd already reached the table, feeling for Teddy's pulse and lifting one of his eyelids. "Bound and gagged, but otherwise unharmed."

Between them they gently took the unconscious boy to the rocking chair beside the kitchen window, and began to examine him. "I don't think it's a spell," Hermione ventured. "It's more like he's been poisoned."

Ruta turned swiftly to examine the spilled pumpkin juice. "I can't smell anything," she said, and brought a drop up on a fingertip to touch carefully with her tongue. "Or taste anything, either. We need Stephen."

_"Stephen?"_ Vicky asked avidly, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"None of your business," Ginny answered sharply.

Hermione opened Teddy's mouth and looked inside. "I don't see any blistering. I think it would be quickest to see if we can get him to bring it back up."

"What do we need?"

"Water, first, and then ipecacuanha."

As Ruta began to fetch down a glass for the water, Vicky made an impatient noise. "Don't bother – it will wear off soon enough. If Fenrir Greyback couldn't kill the brat then, a little _Veritaserum_ won't do him any harm."

The glass shattered on the floor.

Ruta turned to face her old classmate. "What do you know about Greyback?" she said, deep in her throat.

"I know he vanished. And only a few days later you landed in St. Mungo's. From what Pemberthy said..."

"How did you know that Greyback was alive?" Ruta growled.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged alarmed glances, and for the first time Vicky Stone seemed to realize that she had made a mistake.

"He wanted to know... to know where... the boy... It was my chance. He said he could tell me things about werewolves that would finally get me out of Skeeter's shadow. I couldn't _not_ tell him!"

Before Ginny or Hermione could even begin to realize the enormity of what Vicky Stone had just admitted, Ruta was in motion. With one long bound she was on top of the intruder, pinning the wandless witch's throat to the ground, her teeth showing and her eyes spinning from blue to a fierce, feral yellow.

"No!" Hermione yelled. "Ruta, _don't!"_

vvvvv

Harry Potter heard the shout as soon as his feet touched the path leading to Andromeda Tonks' front door. In a moment he and his companion were through the door and into the kitchen.

In the middle of the room: a woman with strawberry blonde hair, sprawled on the floor, mouth covered by Ruta Lupin's hand. Ruta's other hand pressed down on the woman's exposed neck, and she knelt over her body like a triumphant hunter over his prey. Harry saw Ruta's face and felt his heartbeat stumble in shock.

He could see the bone structure beneath her skin, the familiar pattern of planes and hollows all twisted, _alien._ He saw the flash of teeth in her half-open mouth – _had they always been that white?_ – and the sharp, prominent line of her nose. And he saw her eyes, fixing her prey with a vigilant, unblinking stare of blazing gold.

He knew, even without looking, why Ginny was standing with her wand ready, and why she hesitated. He could see Hermione from the corner of his eye, shielding his godson, slumped unconscious in the rocking chair. He was acutely aware of Seeker's looming figure beside him, but even so he flinched at the sound of that deep, harsh voice.

"How long has she been in this state?"

Ginny cleared her throat, and the golden gaze immediately focused on her. "Just... just now."

"And the boy?"

Hermione answered. "We're not sure. From what she said, it's an overdose of _Veritaserum,_ but..."

"Here," Harry dug into his pocket for the emergency supplies he was never without and came up with a small object that he tossed to Hermione. The yellow eyes snapped to him, and he raised his hands to show that they were empty. "It's a bezoar. A bezoar, Ruta. It will make Teddy better."

There was no sign that the words had penetrated.

"And what else?" Seeker asked. "If that were all, Ruta would be doing her best to help the boy."

"She was," Ginny said. "But that was before we found out who sent Greyback here."

"What?" Harry whispered, feeling his stomach lurch. _"She_ did…?"

"Ah." Seeker regarded Ruta's victim without a hint of pity. "That explains everything."

One of Vicky Stone's legs kicked weakly, and she gave a small, panicked whimper.

"What…" Harry hesitated. He felt still unable to turn his eyes away from Ruta's frozen, watchful face. "What do we do now?"

Seeker sighed. "To tell you the truth, there is not very much we can do at all. Ruta has to do most of the work now. The fact that she hasn't fully changed yet gives me some hope… there might be enough of her human nature left to respond."

He turned back to the two figures on the floor. Ruta's left hand still lay over Vicky Stone's face; at his movement, however slow and unobtrusive, the fingers of her other hand closed around the throat of her foe again, causing a strangled moan.

"Ruta? It's me, Stephen."

Harry stared down in surprised awe at his former teacher and the one he tried to rescue. Seeker's voice was full of confident authority, and at the same time infinitely gentle. _It was the voice of a man calling out for the woman he loved._

"Ruta? Listen to me. Let her go – now. She is unworthy of your revenge. Let her go and come back."

vvvvv

_the world is a red fog of rage and her flesh hungers for the change hungers to give in to the sweet tempting call of the bloodlust filling her to the brim it will be so easy to succumb to the curse that is no curse any longer but blessing and redemption and fiery delight and her spirit yearns to leave the useless shell it is trapped in to run with the moon to tear the flesh of her trembling prey apart_

no

this cannot be

I will lose myself completely

I will lose everything I care for

this cannot be

_but the blood the blood the beast screams with greed the blood and the flesh and the joy of killing you won't take that away from me don't you dare to shrink back from what you truly are kill her kill your foe she has ambushed you she would have dragged you into the light and wreaked havoc with what is left of your life_

oh but it is an urge so overwhelming a hunger so consuming

it runs in my veins like fire how can I fight it all on my own

_give in give in now complete the hunt take your share this is your right you were born anew under the power of the moon accept your birthright complete the hunt_

**"Ruta? It's me, Stephen."**

_no no no don't you dare to listen don't you dare to go back to your miserable weak self the moon is stronger the moon will always be stronger_

**"Ruta? Listen to me. Let her go – now."**

_don't listen to that man he's betraying you like she did he has had his own share of darkness he won't help you he won't save you he is lost like you are don't listen to him complete the hunt_

**"She is unworthy of your revenge. Let her go and come back." **

_don't listen don't listen don't listen_

stephen

_don't you dare to listen_

This is Stephen.

_don't you dare_

I don't have to fight all on my own.

_don't_

I am _not_ alone.

vvvvv

_"Stephen…?"_

vvvvv

Ruta blinked. She lifted her hands from Vicky Stone's mouth and neck and blinked once again. Her face changed… not the dramatic morphing of features Harry knew from the use of Polyjuice Potion but something much more subtle. _This was the woman he knew, body and spirit reunited again… the wolf was gone. _

"Ruta." Harry could hear the bottomless relief he felt himself in Seeker's voice. "Welcome back."

Suddenly Vicky Stone stirred, hands frantically feeling over the floor. Her face was a mask of hatred.

"You filthy _beast!_ Wait until I…"

She bucked up, and Ruta shot forward with a startled gasp; Seeker lunged towards her, caught her around the wrists and swung her into safety. Vicky Stone rolled over, as fast and slick as a snake, and Harry saw that she had snatched Ruta's wand from the folds of her robe. She gave a short shriek of triumph as her hand closed around it, and Harry found to his dismay that Seeker's body offered her a perfect shield against any attempt on his part to cast a spell.

_"Stupefy!" _

Vicky froze on the spot and collapsed to a crumbled heap on the floor.

Harry turned around and saw his wife behind him, wand still pointing at the passed out Miss Stone.

"There you go!" She grinned with grim satisfaction. "I should have done that much sooner; I'm definitely out of practice."

_"Bravo,_ love." Harry's face relaxed in a huge smile. "Neatly done."

"Stephen?" Ruta disentangled herself from Seeker's firm grip and stepped away from him, looking increasingly confused. "I don't understand… I remember Vicky telling me about giving Teddy _Veritaserum_… and then: _nothing."_

"She told you that it was she who sent Greyback to St. Mary Green," Seeker said, choosing each word with great care. "And you – well, let's say, you lost your temper. To a… certain extent, at least."

"But I don't remember any of it!" Ruta replied, frowning deeply. "The only thing I know is that she tried to defend her betrayal… and the next thing I recall is your voice, saying my name."

Abruptly her face lost all its color.

"Now I understand," she breathed. _"The moon will always be stronger._ This is what I heard the beast say. _The beast within." _

She looked at them one by one. Her eyes had returned to the usual slate blue, but Harry vividly remembered the yellow, predatory stare he had seen before. He was unable to suppress a shudder, and he hated himself for it.

"Did I… did I hurt any of you?" Ruta turned her gaze to the silent form of Teddy in the rocking chair. "Did I… _no._ Teddy… Teddy _was_ already..."

She wrung her hands.

"But it _could_ have been me, couldn't it?" Her voice broke. "If I had changed completely, _I might have killed you all." _

"You didn't," Hermione said; she spoke very gently. "It is over. Forget about it, will you?"

"But that's the only thing I never _can_ do!" Ruta exclaimed. "The only thing I may not dare… and it will never be over. _Never."_

She stared down at the floor, shaking from head to toe.

"Excuse me," she finally said. "I'm feeling sick. I think I need… some fresh air."

"I'll follow her," Ginny quickly said, lowering her wand as the garden door closed behind Ruta.

"Don't," Seeker said.

She turned to him, ready to object, but the sight of his face she closed her mouth. She saw sorrow and bitter understanding. Old pain seemed to bend his shoulders, burdening him with age far beyond his years.

"Don't," he repeated. "She won't be able to listen right now, no matter how noble your intentions may be. Let her go."

vvvvv

The sun was nearly touching the horizon by the time they finally finished the difficult tasks of that day. Harry had managed to free Andromeda, and Seeker had thoroughly examined Teddy; the potion Vicky had forced upon him was obviously of low quality and she'd overdosed him to boot. Although the bezoar had undone most of the damage, it was decided that his grandmother and Hermione would Apparate with him to St. Mungo's, just in case. Hermione promised to send back word as soon as she could. "My owl needs the exercise," she said wryly, giving Harry and Ginny each a quick hug before departing.

Ginny finished tidying the kitchen before returning to Berwick. Harry wouldn't have minded her staying, but she only shook her head. "Kreacher is a marvel," she pointed out, "but even the strongest elf magic is a poor substitute for breast milk."

But at last there were no more distractions, and they turned their attention to Ruta Lupin's defeated foe.

vvvvv

When Ginny's spell finally eased, Vicky found herself bound with the same bonds she had used on Andromeda, although she lay far more comfortably on a bed than the old witch, who had been forced to wait on the floor for her rescue. The room was small, the windows and curtains were closed, and the light was low. She turned her aching head carefully and found two men standing close to the door and quietly talking to each other: Harry Potter and Severus Snape.

_Severus Snape._

She studied him with greedy interest. He had changed – of course he would have after eight years. His hair was cut short, and streaked with silver – but there was no mistaking the man immortalized in the ruthlessly honest portrait that hung in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. He was a legend – controversial and notorious, but still a legend. She cursed inwardly, overwhelmed by a wave of helpless rage and bitter loss. _She had been close… so close._

"Ah – she's awake."

Snape walked over to the bed and looked down at her with an impenetrable expression. She stared back, trying to assume an appearance of unfazed bravery.

"Don't bother to put up a show," he said coolly. "However intricate your plans may have been, you have failed… even though you did more damage than we should have permitted you to do."

"Teddy Lupin is well," Harry Potter added, equally calm. "Just in case you should forget to ask."

Her gaze strayed away from Snape and found the Boy Who Lived. _No boy any longer._ She knew his features as well as those of the former Potions Master – what wizard or witch didn't? – but there was nothing left of the waif who had innocently stumbled into the trap of the Triwizard Tournament – and on the pages of the _Daily Prophet_, his personal drama distorted beyond all recognition by Rita Skeeter's Quickquotes Quill. _This is the main difference between me and Rita Skeeter,_ Vicky thought maliciously. _I've never needed any magical accessory to defame someone. _

"No doubt about that," Snape said with a dry, cold chuckle, "although you have copied her in more than one regard, haven't you?"

Suddenly Vicky felt dizzy, helpless and terribly _naked_… every thought, every single memory in her mind was displayed before those black, dispassionate eyes.

"What are you going to do with me now?" she demanded, her voice overly loud in the silence of the room. "Kill me? Haul me to Azkaban?"

"Hardly that," Harry Potter gave back. "Killing you would mean more trouble than you're worth, Miss Stone… and we'd just as soon not deal with the publicity of a full trial before the Wizengamot."

"What else, then?" Vicky asked, the first whisper of an irrational hope stirring in her heart. _Perhaps she could_…

"No, you can't. We won't let you get away with this, and we won't listen to any promise you might try to offer," Snape said, his eyes sharp as a bared blade. "We're not that stupid… and you aren't either. Do you know what Minerva McGonagall told us about your merits as a student? Overambitious, conniving and lazy. That hasn't changed a bit, has it?"

"McGonagall?" Vicky croaked. "You went into the Headmistress's records?"

"Did you really believe you were the only one able and willing to do thorough research?" Snape said, his voice full of contempt. "You've alienated far too many people for your own good this time, Miss Stone."

"And the _wrong_ people at that," Harry growled.

Seeker didn't so much as cast a glance at the man beside him. He kept his bottomless black eyes locked on hers, until her own eyes ached to blink.

"Mr. Potter is feeling much more vengeful than I am. Blame that on his youth… and on the fact that you did serious harm to his godson and to his friend by betraying both of them to a murderer."

"And what are you?" Vicky spat. "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, you miserable fraud -- you have plenty of blood on your hands, just like Greyback did! Don't try to come haughty with me!"

"I'm not haughty," he replied with infuriating calm, "only clever and careful enough not to take my own thirst for revenge as a rule for my actions."

He took a step closer, and she flinched back; there was no escape, only the soft depths of the pillow behind her.

"And yes, I was a fraud, for far too long," he said, his voice suddenly as soft as silk. "But I've always been willing to learn, any other weaknesses of character notwithstanding. You can count yourself lucky that I've learned enough not to repeat some of my worst mistakes... or you would get the punishment you deserve."

He took a small glass bottle out of his pocket and raised his wand, holding the tip firmly against her temple. With disbelieving horror she saw thin, grey streaks rise from her skin, curling down towards the opening of the bottle.

"You can't do that," she whispered. "You can't take this story away from me!"

"Of course I can, and I will" he said. "You should be glad that I only take your memories… not your life."

His eyes seemed to grow until they filled her field of vision completely. Once again blue eyes blazed gold in a distorted face. Once more she saw Ruta spellbound, leaned up against the wall of Andromeda Tonks' kitchen… One more time Vicky watched a man leaving Ruta Lupin's house, feeling fierce triumph and the jubilant prospect of glory rise in her heart. Again she saw the corridors of St. Mungo's, heard the gossiping Muggles in the hair salon. A hooded figure, impossible and exciting, loomed over her in the backyard of the _Wanton Witch_ and spoke to her with a deep, snarling voice. The scenes flickered through her mind and settled for a moment on another astonishingly clear image of Ruta Lupin, decades younger, sitting in a classroom at Hogwarts, head bowed over a roll of parchment, and once more in the Ravenclaw common room: _You should ask Madam Pince for a copy of 'Philtres d'Amour' by Catherine Monvoisin_… But all those memories were fading now, shrinking to pale miniatures without any meaning… Vicky finally lost her grasp on thought and let herself be drowned in the black gaze of a man whose face she knew only from doing research for one of Rita Skeeter's books… a man dead and gone these past eight years.

vvvvv

Half an hour later, they sat in Andromeda's parlor, a bottle of fire whiskey on the table.

"That was close, wasn't it?" Harry remarked, taking a sip and feeling the strong alcohol burn its way down into his stomach. Seeker looked at him, his lips forming a narrow line.

"It was indeed," he said. "And we can't foresee if there won't be another Vicky Stone coming along someday."

Harry took another sip.

"Perhaps Ruta should leave St. Mary Green," he said thoughtfully. "Neville still hopes to lure her into his Herbology project at Hogwarts."

"Perhaps." Seeker stared into the fireplace. "But she has to return first; she's been missing for more than four hours now."

He rose from his chair.

"I had best go and prevent Winky from having a nervous breakdown. She was to warn Ruta from leaving the house and when she learns about what happened today, she will be devastated."

"And I had best take Miss Stone back to London before she wakes up, and I'll need to drop in Pemberthy," Harry answered, trying not to make a sour face at the prospect. "Will you try to find Ruta?"

"I can't search the entire Eskdale," Seeker's voice was very tired. "But she will come home sooner or later." He paused. " It is the only place she is likely to feel safe."

"Maybe not the only place," Harry said, fidgeting with the bottle of memories before him, and remembering all he'd seen and heard since the man in front of him had walked back into his life. "I think she might feel safe at your house, too. With you, I mean. If you'll wait for her."

Their eyes met.

"Then I shall wait for her," Stephen Seeker promised. "No matter how long it takes."


	18. Herb Of Grace

Chapter Seventeen  
**Herb Of Grace**

It was nearly dark when Ruta Lupin returned to St. Mary Green. She came from the fields, past Mrs. Ogilvie's little house, and saw the blueish light of the old lady's TV flicker behind the closed curtains. The windows of Stephen's cottage were dark, and Ruta abruptly stopped in front of the garden wall, staring at the door. _Was he at home? And would he open the door if she actually got up the nerve to ring the bell?_

With a sinking heart she realized that she simply didn't have the courage to face him now. She turned away, fighting the irrational urge to pull the big hood of her cloak deeper over her head, to protect herself against hostile eyes. The old buildings along Mill Walk seemed to lean in menacingly, their shingled roofs towering above her like distrustful guards.

As she reached the bend to Tulip Close and neared home, her steps slowed down. The garden walls to her left and right were glittering in the light of the street lamps, glazed with a thin layer of frost. November had come nearly unnoticed, throwing a veil of early winter over the village. She could see her own breath like an icy cloud around her head.

The cottage would be as cold as this night-shrouded street. When she'd left Andromeda's house a few hours ago, it had been crowded with people. _Ginny, Hermione, Harry… She remembered the small, limp figure of Teddy, hanging over the table… Vicky's face, white and hateful, before Ginny's spell turned her to a crumpled heap on the floor._

Now Ruta stood in front of her own garden gate, her hand on the latch. If only there was a way to let the memory fade… the memory of their frightened eyes when she finally escaped the tempting fire of the change, trembling with shock about the dreadful magnitude of her rage.

_This was what Fenrir Greyback had turned her into. She would never be able to bear the fear of those she loved, the danger she meant for anyone getting into her way._

She could brew herself a sleeping draught; it might not be as effective as the one Stephen had sent through Winky only five days ago, but it would probably be enough to provide her with a few hours of oblivion. And as she stood on her own threshold, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the dark, disturbingly strong desire to choose herbs that would do much more… _that would let her sink into a slumber deep enough that she would never return to wakefulness and a hopeless, new day._

The mere thought chilled her to the bones. It was nearly enough to make her turn away and run into the darkness again… but with a huge effort she managed to turn the key and enter the vestibule. For a moment she hesitated in the darkness, shivering and frightened, but then she saw a thin, golden band of light from the direction of the parlor. She moved forward, pushing the door open… and stood still.

The room was warm and bright, lit by a blaze in the fireplace. A carafe with red wine and two glasses stood on the table, the curtains were closed… and in the chair beside the window sat Stephen, a book in his hands; she immediately identified her herbiary.

He looked up and gave her a short, noncommittal nod. Ruta stared at him in disbelief; she opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her. He was the one who spoke first, and he took her completely by surprise.

_"Ruta graveolens,"_ he said, oviously quoting from the book. "Did you know that Muggle Healers in the Middle Age used it against the Plague?"

It was neither the voice of the friend nor that of the lover; this was the teacher speaking, and some well-trained instinct deep in Ruta's mind made her obediently respond to this tone as she had done for seven long years at Hogwarts.

"Yes," she replied, "because the rats didn't like the smell." She gave him a laborious, lopsided smile. "Did you know that the monks took it to curb their baleful lust for women? There was even a Roman poet who recommended a cure with rue against the woes of a love gone amiss, and in France it was called _L'herbe à la belle fille'_, because women used it to get rid of unwanted children."

"_Muggle_ herblore," Stephen remarked, his mouth quirking in cool disdain. "Properly used,_ ruta graveolens_ is an ingredient in no less than half a dozen potions, and a vital antidote against several life-threatening venoms. It is also commonly used for eye illnesses." He sighed. "I am surprised that you have seemingly forgotten so much. The inquisitive student who wrote an essay about the use of _mandragora vernalis _twenty years ago would have thought of the magical uses first."

"I simply think you should have chosen a better example," Ruta gave back, her voice tired and sharp. Suddenly she felt her knees giving way beneath her, and she sank into the chair beside the table, to keep him from witnessing a rather undignified breakdown.

"Rue is poisonous," she muttered bitterly. "Touch it with your bare fingers, and you'll end up with countless blisters on your hands." Sheer self-loathing burned in her throat and made her voice waver.

Stephen closed the book and got up from the chair. Ruta felt her body grow tense; what if he came over and touched her? Right now she was unable to accept his embrace… not even the smallest hint of a caress. _She had lost every right for comfort. _

"Excuse me," he said, voice and face calm and unperturbed. "I shan't be long."

She saw him vanish in the direction of the kitchen and leaned back into the chair while the warmth of the room slowly trickled into her exhausted limbs. It was almost a relief to be alone, with nothing bearing her company but the regular ticking of the clock on the wall, the organ chords of the wind in the chimney and the occasional sound of crackling wood from the fireplace.

Stephen returned, carrying a tray. Ruta caught a whiff of something fresh and delicious… appetizing enough to make her mouth water, very much to her amazement.

"Winky prepared this for you," Stephen said, setting the tray down in front of her, "and she would be terribly disappointed if you didn't eat it."

Thick sandwiches, made of fresh, warm rye toast with ham and cheddar, lovingly decorated with chives and roasted onion rings; a crisp green salad, with goat cheese and a creamy dressing. Ruta wondered where Winky had got the salad from… and with a surge of pain and shame she remembered the glass house at Fionnula's in Berwick.

_"It's not my fault that werewolves contaminate everything they touch." Fionnula's voice, spitting venom and disgust._

And she was right... more than she'd ever know.

Suddenly Ruta had to swallow around a heavy lump in her throat. She pushed the plate back without thinking, raised her head… and met Stephen's eyes.

"The salad is from the glass house in your own back garden," he said. His tone was even and dispassionate. "Winky decided that she didn't wish to increase the sales of your former employer any longer."

"I'm…" She cleared her throat, struggling for composure. "I'm still not sure if I'm hungry."

"I know you had breakfast with me this morning," he placidly remarked, "which was certainly luscious, but your only meal today. Judging from your state when you left four hours ago – and your usual need for exercise when you're upset - you must have made at least fifteen miles today. Believe me, you _are_ hungry."

And so Ruta ate, slowly and deliberately working her way through half of the salad and at least one of the two huge sandwiches. When she pushed the plate back for the second time, he didn't object. She took a sip of the wine and looked at him; he had returned to the chair and to his lecture, long fingers slowly turning the pages of her herbiary. His expression was almost peaceful, but she had spent too much time studying and unriddling the mysteries of his face to miss the fine deep lines around his mouth, betraying his inner tension.

"Stephen?"

He answered without raising his eyes from the text. "Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

He closed the book and put it back on the small shelf beside the window. "It wouldn't have been a good idea to let you return into an empty house." A short pause. "Your knowledge of poisons is a bit too… _profound_ for my peace of mind."

It was a staggering echo of her own thoughts before she'd opened the door to the parlor, only half an hour ago.

"It would be the easiest solution, wouldn't it?" she retorted, her voice soft and brittle. "For all of us."

"Indeed?" He rose from the chair; all of a sudden his face was stern and angry, and for a second he actually looked _old_. "After all your friends had to witness this afternoon, after that nightmare of confronting the vengeful cow who betrayed your entire family to a monster, and who did not even shy away from poisoning a child? Do you really wish to add a craven suicide to their shock and misery?" He gave her a hard glare. "I would never have thought you to be that _selfish._"

Ruta sat with gritted teeth, gazing down at her hands. His anger was like an ice-cold gush of water, unnerving… and at the same time galvanizing to the core.

"Perhaps you have misjudged my character all along," she whispered. "Perhaps I'm no better than Greyback. If not for you, I would have torn the people I love most limb from limb today."

"If not for me?" He gave a snort of denial. "I had nothing to do with it, Ruta."

She bit her lip. "It was you who called me back before I could succumb to the change."

"Ruta."

Stephen came over to the table and bent down in front of her until they were at eye level. Two hands cupped her cheeks, holding her head in a gentle, firm grip; she was unable to turn away.

"I called you, that much is true," he said. "But if you hadn't already decided against the madness of the curse, nothing and no one could have kept you from changing. You had made most of the way back to sanity on your own… not because of what you are but who you are. I merely provided you assistance with the last, few steps."

She blinked unwillingly against the unflinching absolution in his eyes. _How could she accept his forgiveness without at the same time accepting what she had become?_

"Don't you understand that I am a constant danger to anyone who cares for me?" she said accusingly. "Don't you understand that I'm afraid of myself?"

"Of course I do."

His hands were still around her face, and though a part of her wanted to push him away, she instinctively leaned into his touch. She felt his thumbs, following a tender line along her jaw, and she could have wept; her feelings were a wild mixture of longing and helpless despair.

"Of course I do," he repeated, his voice rough. "Don't forget who I once was. It is not necessary to be a werewolf to hate what you see in the mirror each morning."

"But I'm a _monster!"_ she snapped.

"No, you're not." There was not even a hint of brusqueness or sarcasm in his voice; the small part of her mind that wasn't mired in self-contempt marveled at his quiet patience. "Fenrir Greyback was a monster, and not because of the curse but because of his own cruelty and blood thirst. You are completely different; you used your strength and the full force of your will to fight against the danger in your blood."

"And what will happen the next time someone threatens me or those I love… and if even the last shred of my will does not suffice?" She leaned back in the chair, breaking the contact. "Do you really think you know me that well?"

"Well enough." Stephen got up from the floor. "And the Wolfsbane Potion will take care of the times when the moon is full." He paused, looking down at her. "It is an interesting question, however. I wonder if you really _have_ to change at all."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Ruta." She saw the sudden gleam of scientific curiosity in his eyes. "If Fenrir Greyback was able to change whenever he wanted, the phases of the moon notwithstanding - an ability you seem to have "inherited" from him - it might be entirely possible that the same thing applies the other way round… that he was – and you are – able to resist the power of the moon when it is full."

"But why… why did I change in London, then? And why did I change again, only a few days ago?"

"Perhaps only because you _thought_ you must." He gave her a crooked smile. "I admit that my argument is standing on shaky ground. To prove it would mean to wait for the next full moon and meet it without the Potion, just to see what happens, and for the sake of science… and I doubt that you shall want to take that risk on so thin a supposition."

"Very true." Ruta gave a sigh of exhaustion, and for a few minutes they were silent. _She was tired… incredibly tired._ The climb upstairs to her bed seemed much too far, and she realized that she was just about to fall asleep where she was, her head on the table. Suddenly she remembered something.

"Where is Vicky now?"

"In London," Stephen said slowly, more than a hint of regret in his voice. "I would have preferred Apparating with her to Azkaban myself, to drop her into the murkiest hole available, but that would have raised too many questions. Potter and I thought it better to change her memory thoroughly enough to forget ever meeting Fenrir Greyback in person. She thinks he died in the Second Battle, and she never found out about his personal _vendetta_ against the Lupin family. And - first and foremost – she's never been to St. Mary Green."

"And if she had killed Teddy?" Ruta gave back, struggling to master a short, white-hot flare of anger. "Would you have let her forget that easily, too?"

"No." It was a soft growl. "As I said, I would have dropped her into the murkiest hole available."

"But not in Azkaban." She eyed him sharply.

"In Azkaban." His gaze was very direct, an open, cool challenge. "I cannot say the temptation to do otherwise would not have been there -- I am used to protecting my wards. But one thing remains true: in the end Vindictia Stone is too poor an enemy to deserve _drastic_ measures. From either of us."

_She had learned too much this afternoon not to know with brutal clarity what he was talking about._

"I have no idea how to face them ever again," she murmured.

"Whom?"

"My friends. Harry, Ginny… and Hermione, too. They've seen things they never should have had to see."

"They have already seen enough before to keep the shock at a tolerable level, I'd say." Stephen poured himself a glass of wine and refilled hers. "Harry Potter has seen too much about the nature of evil to shrink away from your righteous anger. And Hermione has been fighting side by side with him for seven years."

He took a long sip.

"Ginny? She is a veteran of the Battle at the Ministry, and the Second Battle at Hogwarts. She is a powerful witch and a fierce warrior. You saved the life of a child she loves – not only once but _twice_. Don't forget, she has been possessed by Voldemort's diary, and her brother bears the memory of Greyback on his face… she's probably the one who can identify most with what you are going through. Do you really think she would deny you friendship because of this?"

"I don't know what to think," Ruta said, closing her eyes. "I fear I can't think clearly at all."

"Most understandable." He put his glass on the table. "Go to sleep; a few hours of rest are the best cure you can get right now."

She pushed the chair back and got up with some effort. For a dizzying moment the room spun around her; Stephen reached out quickly and closed his hand around her arm. She looked at him, frowning.

"You'd best go home now," she whispered.

"Spare your breath," he answered, equally soft. "Do you really think I would go and leave you to your chimeras of remorse?"

"Perhaps you should." She turned her face away. "I've put you through enough as it is."

To her surprise he laughed.

"Leave the decision about how much I'm able to abide to me." He guided her towards the door. "You should already know that I'm rather persistent."

"Stubborn, you mean," she gave back, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

"At least as stubborn as you are, Ruta Lupin."

Ruta shook her head, defeated and at the same time shamefully relieved. She slowly walked up the steps, feeling him behind her like a silent, guardian shadow.

vvvvv

Stephen Seeker was glad he had thought to light a fire in the bedroom; now it was pleasantly warm and he saw Ruta's shoulders relax as she went inside.

She would never know how incredibly difficult it had been to hold back, to carefully guide her away from the excruciating turmoil of her panic and self-loathing, without ever once betraying his own anger about what had happened to her. It had taken all his skills as a Legilimens and an Occlumens to find out where her greatest fear threatened to do the worst damage, to steer the conversation in a way to keep her desolation at bay, while at the same time shielding himself against the sheer force of her bottomless fright. He had felt it like a bleeding wound in his mind, the closeness and connection between them strong enough to reawaken his own oldest fears.

_"You'd best go home now."_

As if it were that easy.

She had patiently worked her way through his defenses long before that disastrous night in August turned her life upside down; he had learned to cherish their growing friendship, had found himself secretly waiting for the warm sound of her voice and the sight of her face when she gave him the confident smile that was so much a part of her. And he knew that even the whole burden of bitter experiences from a lost life couldn't keep him from caring for her… caring in a way he'd never known before, so different from the memory of his tragic, obsessive love for Lily Evans that he had not thought to compare the two until it was far too late.

Now he watched her standing in the middle of the old carpet with its faded browns and greens. Without looking at him, she began to undress, slipping out of skirt and blouse and sitting down on the chair beside the fireplace to strip down her long, woolen tights. He noticed that her movements were much smoother and easier than they had been before; perhaps her wounds would never fully heal, but they had at least improved.

He stood in the shadows beside the door unmoving, his gaze fixed on her neck and arms; in the light of the flames her skin had the soft shade of old ivory. Finally she was naked; without bothering to look for her nightgown - and still without looking at him - she went over to the bed and disappeared under the coverlet.

He stepped closer, half determined to bid her good night and to sleep on the couch in the parlor. The only thing he could see of her was a bare shoulder and the back of her head. But he didn't need to use Legilimency to sense the utter hopelessness radiating from her silent form; to leave now would be a rejection of everything she had still to offer. He tried to find the right words to say and finally decided to say nothing at all.

He rid himself of his own clothing and lay down beside Ruta. The bed was wide and the coverlet generous enough to allow them a certain distance. He could feel the warmth of her body, but he didn't touch her; they lay side by side while the fire burned down on the grate and the room grew dim.

Suddenly there was a small movement beside him; he was dozing off in spite of the strain and nearly missed it, but then it came again. He reached out, and his fingertips grazed her arm. It was trembling, but when she felt his hand, she froze and lay completely still. A moment later the tiny wave ran through her limbs once more; his fingers moved up over her shoulder and found a wet cheek.

He wanted to kill Fenrir Greyback all over again. He wanted to turn back time, to be able to protect her from being bitten before the wolf had even the chance to touch her. He wanted to yell at her for her obstinate refusal to seek for the comfort he was – at last! - willing and able to offer. He wanted to make love to her until all fear died under the hungry onslaught of his mouth and hands, and until his own, desperate anger melted into the heat of a mindless release.

But instead he gently caressed her shoulder, stroking down to her wrist until he had found her icy fingers and closed his hand around hers; suddenly she turned to him and buried her face against his chest. Now she wept in earnest – unchecked, convulsive sobs and laborious gasps for air while she clung to him, unable to hold back the tide any longer. Her body was shaking like a leaf in autumn, and he held her close, rocking her like a child, his voice a soft, low solace.

After long minutes the flood slowly subsided. Ruta made a weak attempt to disengage from his firm embrace and raised her head, showing a tear-streaked, pale face with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice uneven and thin. "I shouldn't have… Stephen, I'm so _sorry."_

"For what?" he replied, carefully stroking damp strands back from where they clung to her cheeks. "For admitting that you're human? For being afraid?"

"For everything." She gave a last, hiccupping sob. "For dragging you into… into this madness."

He shook his head.

"Never mind," he whispered. "I have no complaints, my Herb of Grace. And I shan't leave."

He pressed a kiss into the tousled hair beneath his chin and closed his eyes.

vvvvv

When Stephen Seeker opened his eyes come morning, the November chill had crept into the room, and the bed beside him was empty. For a moment he struggled against the irrational assumption that Ruta might have fled her home to heaven knew where; he got up, gathered his clothes and dressed quickly. He stepped over to the window, drawing back the thick curtains.

The sun had barely risen above the horizon. The light was pale but almost unnaturally clear, outlining the bare branches of the trees and the shingles on the house roofs like winter sculptures; every inch was covered with a thin layer of hoarfrost. Stephen turned around and left the room; pleasant warmth and the equally pleasant flavors of rose-scented bathing water and freshly brewed coffee greeted him in the corridor.

When he came down into the parlor, Ruta sat in her favorite chair by the fire, hands wrapped around a big, steaming mug. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile.

"Good morning," she said. "I hope you had a good night, my dramatic display notwithstanding."

"I slept very well," he answered. "And you look much better than you did yesterday."

"Oh, come on!" Now she actually _laughed._ "I had no idea that you were near-sighted. And besides, there's a mirror in my bathroom."

"There's nothing wrong with my eyes," he retorted dryly. "By the way… did Winky think of brewing some _Assam_ tea?"

Before Ruta could answer, the door to the kitchen opened and the house-elf swept in, carrying a tray with a silver teapot, a crystal jug with cream and a small bowl with rock sugar.

"Good morning, Master!" she squeaked, surveying the rather homely scene with an air of deep satisfaction. She placed the tray on the table and was about to reach for the pot when Ruta shook her head.

"No, Winky," she said. "Let me do this."

"But, Miss…" the house-elf protested. "You shouldn't bother with it - this is Winky's business. And your arm is still not fully healed."

Ruta smiled at her. "You haven't been torturing me with your exercises for nothing, have you?" At the sight of Winky's shocked gaze she raised a hand. "That was a _joke_, dear one. Your stubbornness helped me regain the strength in the torn muscles and sinews; without your adamant determination to observe my daily training, the arm would still be completely lame."

She leaned in and her fingers closed around the handle of the teapot. Both the man and the little house-elf watched intently how she lifted the pot and cautiously filled Seeker's cup. She placed it back on the tray and raised her head, eyes shining triumphantly. Winky clapped her hands with honest delight, and Seeker felt the spontaneous wish to do the same.

"Well done, Ruta," he said. "And Winky… you've worked wonders. We should celebrate this with a really good breakfast."

"I will make omelets!" Winky exclaimed, glowing with joy. "And does Master want sausages, too? Mushrooms and tomatoes? Bacon and eggs? And croissants, of course, because Miss loves Winky's croissants, and…"

"Whatever you come up with, we will doubtlessly enjoy it enormously," Seeker said, gently pushing her towards the kitchen. "And be careful with the mushrooms – last time you used too much garlic and not enough thyme."

"Yes, Master!" Winky answered, nodding vigorously. "Less garlic and more thyme. And a whiff if rosemary, perhaps…"

The rest of the sentence was cut off when the door closed behind her.

"She's priceless," Ruta said behind Seeker, her voice gentle. "I don't know what I would have done without her… and without you."

He turned around, fighting an unexpected surge of impatience. Her constant gratitude suddenly felt like a wall between them… a solid obstacle he had to overcome somehow, to ultimately reach the woman hiding behind it.

But before he could say anything, something banged against the window from outside. They both turned their heads simultaneously and discovered the big screech owl, picking against the glass with all signs of anger. Seeker recognized it at once, groaning inwardly. _Brillant timing indeed, Mr. Potter._

"Socrates!" Ruta said, quickly opening the window. The bird fluttered inside, settling on her arm while she removed the small roll of parchment from where it was tied to its leg. She skimmed through the message, and her full mouth instantly turned to a tense and narrow line.

"What is it?" Stephen reached out and she wordlessly dropped the parchment into his palm.

**I would like to come and see you this afternoon; I plan to bring a visitor from the Ministry. Please make sure you are alone (save S., if you prefer), and keep this secret. H.**

"I have no idea what to think of that," she slowly said. "Did he perhaps… do you believe he reported my… my _mishap_ from yesterday to Shacklebolt?"

Her voice had a sudden, sharp edge of panic, and the knuckles of her hands grew white. Gently he took the mug from her and put it on the table.

"I highly doubt that we have to expect a grim squadron from the Werewolf Capture Unit, breaking through the door any moment," he quietly replied, getting up from his chair and stepping behind her. "If that were the case, Mr. Potter would have directed his message to me, ordering me to take you into hiding at once, lest I wished to risk the unchecked wrath of the Boy Who Lived."

She gave a weak chuckle; he began to rub her shoulders and neck with deft fingers, and after a short moment of hesitation she leaned back into the warmth of his body.

"But what does he want? And who is the mysterious visitor from the Ministry?"

"I have no idea," Stephen said honestly. "But since this message doesn't appear to indicate your imprisonment – or any plan to betray my secret, second life – we should exercise ourselves in patience."

"And do what?"

"Take a long walk." He smiled, feeling an inexplicable, calm confidence. "But before you make the brave and inevitable attempt to entice me into scrambling up the steep hills of the Eskdale, I insist on having a proper breakfast."

vvvvv

They made it to Bléa Tarn in just over an hour, and though Stephen had mostly confined himself to his house during the last few months, he kept up with her rather well. The winter sun wiped away the last remnants of fog clouding the heads of the mountains while they rested at the rim of the still, deep blue water.

Ruta sat on a stray rock and watched him slowly walking along the water's edge, where small waves were licking the frozen grass. His face was flushed, and the cold breeze blew his hair back from his forehead. With a small pang of regret she saw that his temples showed a sheen of silver.

_When I first saw him he seemed to be ageless,_ she thought_, but now fate has tipped the scales. My fate, probably._

"What do you think?" she said aloud. "Was it worth the effort?"

"What effort?" He looked back over his shoulder, giving her a surprisingly boyish grin. "You are much more out of breath than I am."

Ruta gave a snort.

"Do you forget that I'm wounded?"

"Your shoulder and arm are wounded, not your legs," Stephen said, his grin deepening. "And I don't recall you walking up this dratted hill on your hands, like some medieval jester."

_"Touché."_ She grew serious again. "You know, this has always been my refuge. I have lived alone for the last twenty years, but even my house can be busy at times. Bléa Tarn has always been the place where I could sit in peace, where I could go to get away from my daily business and clear my head."

He nodded slowly. "Maybe that is exactly what you need right now," he said. "To get away and clear your head… even if it means going much farther than to Bléa Tarn."

It was only too obvious what he meant, but she shook her head in denial. "Stephen…"

_"Ruta."_ He stood in front of her, and their eyes met. "You know you have to make plans for the future."

"I know." She bit her lip, clutching at the next straw available. "But as long as I don't know what Harry's message is about, I can't see clearly enough to make any plans. I intend to put off any grave decisions about my life until the visit is over."

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "As you wish. And now you'd best get up from that rock and walk back with me. This is a lovely place, but the wind cuts like a knife."

"Cast a warming spell," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You are astonishingly thin-blooded for a hero."

"A hero who spent most of his time in a damp dungeon," he retorted with a grimace. "And in some other disgusting holes. We should return home now, if we're to be back before Mr. Potter arrives… unless you want me to Apparate with you."

"You may Apparate, if you like," Ruta said, "but I will most certainly walk. I have… you haven't…" She swallowed. "You never saw that room at St. Mungo's. There was nothing more than the bed and a table, and the curtains of the only window were closed all the time. Three weeks without seeing the sky or smelling fresh grass... perhaps this is the reason why I can't get enough of it now. Without Lottie Stanhope I would have gone mad. She refused to stay outside and leave me to my despair."

Again he stood in front of her, wordlessly reaching out. Ruta took the offered hands; she was pulled to her feet and directly into his arms. Her cheek found a natural resting place against the soft wool of his dark winter cloak, and she closed her eyes. They had spent two nights together, his body giving both jubilating pleasure and deep comfort… and still his embrace felt strangely unfamiliar. His skin under the warm layers of clothing had a soothing, unmistakable aroma, though, of herbs and a multitude of strong brews and long vaporized potions.

"I wish I had brought the Invisibility Cloak with me," he murmured, his mouth in her hair.

"What for?"

"I would show you how to fly without a broom." A warm hand moved under her chin, tipping her head up. Ruta studied his face.

"That is bribery, sir," she replied. "You're trying to tempt me with something that would keep you from having to walk back."

"Devastatingly acute, as always," he retorted, his gaze glittering with amusement and something else that made her heartbeat stumble. Then he leaned in and she felt his mouth, a gentle touch at first… but the kiss grew quickly deeper and more demanding, and when he finally released her, the blood was singing in her ears, and she didn't feel the cold wind any longer. She cleared her throat, and then said the first thing that came to her mind.

"You've never kissed me in daylight before."

"Yes," he replied, turning to the path that led away from the lake and down the hill; he spoke over his shoulder. "But I could get used to it, my Herb of Grace. Come, now… there's no need to be afraid. Whatever the day brings, you won't have to face it alone."


	19. The Stone That Fell From The Sky

Chapter Eighteen  
**The Stone That Fell From The Sky**

The clock in the living room of Ruta's house was striking three when the brass bell at the door began to ring. The only sound beside the soft, silvery chimes had been the clattering of porcelain in the kitchen, where Winky was happily puttering, and Stephen noticed that Ruta took a deep, nervous breath at the sudden clamor. He silently followed her into the vestibule; she opened the door and stood face to face with Harry Potter who was waiting on the threshold. His black hair was even more unruly than usual, the green eyes behind the glasses rimmed by dark shadows. He looked as if he hadn't slept a single minute since the day before.

"Hello, Harry." Ruta's voice was dry and brittle, her shoulders tense, as if she tried to shy back from the man who was one of her best friends… obviously to spare him the need to do so himself. For a few seconds neither of them moved. Then---

_"Ruta."_ Potter's tired face lit up in a smile, and without any hesitation he gathered her in a close embrace. "I'm so glad to see you – you scared me to death when you vanished yesterday!"

"I scared myself to death," she replied, the words muffled against his leather jacket. "Please try to forgive me. I was very upset."

"Of course you were." For a short moment Seeker's eyes met his, and both men shared what probably was the first honest smile ever. "Ginny sends her love… she would like you to come over sometime soon."

"Really?" Ruta sighed deeply. "I didn't think Ginny… I was sure…" She broke off, stepping out of his arms and eyeing him sharply. "Harry – what was that owl about? Where is your visitor?"

"Oh – I'm sorry." Potter turned to someone Seeker couldn't see. "Mr. Radescu?"

Another man appeared behind him, darkening the doorframe. He was tall, taller than Seeker himself. Long, grey hair fell down to his shoulders; his face was haggard and deeply tanned, with a long, sharply defined nose and dark brown eyes under heavy brows.

_"Doamna_ Lupin?" He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "My name is Radu Radescu. _Domnul_ Potter thought I should come here to see you." His voice was deep and vibrant, like a bronze gong, and he spoke with a strong accent, with open, clear vowels and a hard, rolling 'r'.

"How… how do you do, Mr. Radescu?" Ruta reached out, and the man took her hand. Seeker saw how her back suddenly turned rigid, and he heard a sharp intake of breath. He shot an inquisitive glance at Potter, who cleared his throat.

"Mr. Radescu arrived from Romania very early this morning," he explained. "He had a long conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt; it was very helpful solving the mystery about Greyback's whereabouts during the last six years."

"Yes," Ruta added, turning around to Seeker. Her face had lost all its color; even her lips were white. "And Mr. Radescu is a werewolf."

A deafening silence fell over the vestibule. Rage flared up in Stephen Seeker like a flame, and he met Harry Potter's gaze with blazing eyes.

"I suppose that you have a good reason to think that he should be _here_ of all places?" His voice was colorless and soft. But the younger man didn't flinch.

"Mr. Radescu is a guest of the Ministry," he quietly said. "Among other things, the magical authorities in Romania were seemingly severely mis-informed about that ominous werewolf order. And Mr. Radescu did a lot to clarify the situation."

"There is no need to protect me, Stephen." That was Ruta who had regained her composure. "Not against infection, at least; I was bitten already, wasn't I?" Her wry smile was a mixture of irony and regret, but when she turned to their visitor, it grew more genuine. "Welcome, Mr. Radescu. May I introduce you to Stephen Seeker? He is a very good friend of mine… and he has recently made a habit of guarding me against peril, for which I am utterly thankful."

"Mr. Seeker." Radu Radescu bowed, one eyebrow quickly rising onto his hairline before his features settled to an expression of polite placidity again. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

Seeker stiffly returned the bow, and Ruta took the lead into the living room, all three men in her wake. Winky had used the time well, preparing a fabulous tea table. There were cucumber sandwiches, small tartlets with marmalade, a glazed fruitcake and an extra plate with warm scones and clotted cream. Seeker noticed with a small smile that there was also a pot of _Assam_ tea and another one with Ruta's favorite coffee blend.

They sat down. Seeker chose the big winged chair directly beside Ruta. Harry Potter served the guest from the Ministry a cup of coffee and inhaled the content of his own cup and a scone before Seeker even managed to pour cream into his tea. Now Potter's tired face was a bit less pale, and he sat down on the sofa beside Radu Radescu.

"Perhaps," he said, "I should allow Mr. Radescu to tell you his story. It is closely connected to that of Fenrir Greyback, at least after the Second Battle. And he is – in a way – Greyback's victim, same as you are."

Ruta turned her gaze from Potter to the man beside him; she studied his face, frowning. "How is this? Did he bite you, too?"

"No, _Doamna_ Lupin, he didn't bite me; I am a werewolf by birth." The tanned face hardened for a moment, and something flickered in the brown eyes, fierce and golden like a sudden fire. "He murdered my father."

*****

"I come from the village of Bojta in Romania," Radu Radescu began. "It lies at the foot of the Cibin Mountains, near the entrance of the _Turnul Rosu_, where the merchants have wandered with their goods through a narrow mountain pass for centuries… to Sibiu in the north, and southwards to Wallachia."

He got up from the sofa and stood very straight, hands behind his back. like a storyteller or a bard, spinning a legend for his audience, and when he spoke, his deep voice wove the music of the tale he told like a powerful spell.

_For decades, centuries perhaps, the _familile de lupi_ of Bojta had lived in a careful truce with their uncursed neighbors. Both men and women followed the rules, retreating into the mountain caves when the curse was at its worst and meeting at the ruins of the Red Tower on the night after the moon began to wane, where the_ Consiliul Lupilor _gave its judgment over disputed cases between families and the Elders blessed the marriages of the young. Because of the truce, no innocent victim had fallen to the curse, and neighbor had begun to marry neighbor, werewolf to witch or wizard, and if the people still had to watch the children carefully when adolescence might bloom into magic or madness or both, at least there was for the most part peace._

Radescu sighed, and in a moment the bard was again merely a man.

"Since the turn of the 19th to the 20th century, my grandfather Iancu was the _Patriarh_. He sired only one son, my father Nicolae. In summer 1955, Nicolae was a young man of twenty-five years. Like me, he had inherited the curse, and he had married the previous autumn. My mother, Melitta, came from another village, from Bodu Olt, and she was no werewolf. There was only one day missing until the next full moon, and she was close to giving birth. My father was very upset that he would probably have to spend one of the most important moments for a husband as a bloodthirsty beast, and hidden in a cave in the Cibin Mountains."

He closed his hand around his coffee mug, inhaling the fragrant steam. Then he took a long sip.

"My mother felt his sorrow and unease, and she tried to comfort him as best as she could. But he was still miserable, and he accused himself of bringing his evil fate upon her. Finally he left the house and spent the rest of the night outside, near the River Olt. He fell asleep at the foot of a steep hill, and when he awoke, it was early morning. He was very thirsty, and with great thankfulness discovered a small, clear brook, running directly beside him down to the river. He drank his fill, and when he returned home to Bojta, my mother lay in labour."

"It was a difficult birth; my mother went through great pain, and the hours passed without any progress. Finally the sun went down, and the midwife sent my father out of the room, locking the door and barring the shutters of the windows. The time of the change had come, and he was not allowed to jeopardize his innocent wife. He stood in the garden, yelling at the sky in helpless fury."

He gave a small, ironical smile, and not for the first time Seeker felt the strange, surprisingly strong connection between the man and Ruta. She sat without moving, her gaze fixed on Radescu's face.

"The moon rose bright and merciless, the silver sign of the curse, and my father sat crouched on the ground, waiting to be overcome by the familiar, horrible madness. But for the first time in his life it didn' t claim him."

Seeker cleared his throat. "What does that mean?"

The Romanian shot him a sharp glance. "It means that he didn't change. He waited for the fur to break through his skin, for his teeth to sharpen to deadly fangs. But none of that happened."

"None of that happened…" Ruta's voice was a breathless echo, her amazement as great and profound as Seeker's.

Radescu smiled at her.

"My father was absolutely beside himself, shaking with wonder and joy… but of course he didn't dare to return into the house. Only when the sun rose above the roof, he finally hurried back to his wife… and he was greeted by the screaming of a newly born baby boy." The smile went wider. "That was me."

"And then?" Ruta asked, deeply fascinated.

"He waited until the full moon was over, and then went to the Elders and told them his incredible story. They asked him a multitude of questions. Where had he been the day and the night before? What had he done that was _different?_ He had not used any magic – and there was no magic that worked against the curse anyway."

Seeker's eyes widened in sudden perception.

"The brook?" he slowly said. "The brook your father drank from when he spent the night close to that river?"

"Very good, _Domnul_ Seeker." Radescu nodded appreciatively. "And absolutely true." He set aside his coffee and took up his tale once more.

_The Elders went with Nicolae to where he had slept, and they followed the small brook upstream to where it sprung from a crack in a small rock. They examined the rock; it was dark as midnight, the surface cool and smooth as silk. They wandered around it and saw that it rested in a deep, ancient crater, overgrown with brushwood and trees. But the shape could still be recognized… a wide deepening in the hill. The _Patriarh_ Iancu was a wise and scholarly man.. He told them that huge rocks sometimes fell from the sky, coming from outer space. Perhaps this was a rock like that - it certainly didn't look like any of the stones nearby. So the Elders scratched a handful of dust from the surface and took it home to Bojta. They chose three volunteers – Nicolae included – mixed the dust with water and made them drink it. Then they waited anxiously for the next full moon. _

"They didn't change. None of them," Radescu said, looking at each of them in turn. "It was the stone indeed. The Elders called it _Piatra Lunii_ – because it was a wondrous gift from the moon, an unexpected blessing, a release from the curse. They dug it out and brought it to Bojta."

"How big was it?" Ruta asked, sitting very upright in her chair, tense as a bowstring.

Radescu's eyes scanned the room and found the teapot.

"Twice the size of this," he said. "Not very impressive, is it? The Elders scratched off enough dust to save the whole village from the madness of the wolf… but suddenly they felt the first doubt. How long would their supplies last? How much was really necessary to keep a werewolf from changing, and how long would he have to take it? A miracle had fallen into their hands, but they were afraid to waste it."

"Good thought." Stephen Seeker leaned in. "How did they proceed?"

Radescu poured himself a second cup of coffee. "They decided for tests."

_The Elders chose two trustworthy families, with altogether five sons and daughters who were nearly of age, and they gave each of them a small whiff of the powder. To their great amazement it proved that even that tiny dose was enough to keep a werewolf from changing when the next full moon came. Nicolae didn't get any powder that time, but he didn't change either. One month later four of the five "test persons" remained human; only one of the young women turned to a wolf and was given yet another dose of the powder. The next full moon she too escaped the curse, and she remained free from it for the rest of her life._

"She died 1968," Radescu said, a small, wistful glint in his eyes. "She got caught under a horsecart and broke her neck, but until that very moment she was the most healthy and 'normal' woman I've ever known." His gaze was distant, softened by the memory of a friend long lost.

_Now the rest of the families got the powder, too. Some needed a single dose, some as many as four, but sooner or later, the power of the stone always exceeded the power of the curse. Between the years 1956 and 2002 none of the werewolf inhabitants of Bojta who had received treatment were forced to change during the full moon. The Elders were very careful. They kept the miraculous powder absolutely secret – not only because the_ Piatra Lunii _could only provide a very limited quantity of it but also because the wondrous effect had a dangerous downside. _

"They didn't have to change," Ruta stated, her voice a little unsteady, "but they were able to, couldn't they? And the phase of the moon didn't matter any longer."

"Yes, _Doamna_ Lupin," Radescu replied. "What had become a cure for most of us could easily be used as a weapon against others, as one grim incident proved. We dealt with that, but it was decided that we must keep the stone a secret. We were much too thankful for what the sky had so unexpectedly given us to risk losing it. Fewer of our children are born with the curse now, but those who are must be helped."

"And yet," Seeker grimly said, "despite your secrecy at some point Fenrir Greyback walked onto the stage of this drama."

"He came to Bojta in 2003," Radescu answered. "But he called himself Edward Wolverton. He looked ragged and famished, and he told us that he had been forced to flee from England because of the incurable hatred against werewolves before and after the downfall of the _Stapânul Întunecat_ – the Dark Lord."

"Which was not entirely a lie," Ruta softly said.

"No." Radescu sighed. "We have lived in peace for more than 40 years now, but we knew about Voldemort, of course. Not enough, though… or we would perhaps have been more careful. The Elders held a council and decided to give Wolverton the shelter he was asking for. My father had sent me to Sibiu to visit a good school; I returned with enough English to communicate with him."

He looked down at the plate with scones, but he still didn't eat. Instead he continued telling his strange, unexpected tale, and they listened, unable to take their eyes from the stern, exhausted face.

_The so-called Edward Wolverton conducted himself inconspicuously at first. He accepted with apparent thankfulness a small cottage the Elders offered to him, and for more than a year he blended seamlessly into the community. In retrospect Radescu didn't know if "Wolverton" had originally come to Bojta because he had caught rumors about a mystery in the Cibin Mountains; the families in the village had – same as the Elders – sworn a solemn oath to keep the_ Piatra Lunii _secret. But whatever their English refugee knew or suspected, he inevitably found out about the truth after the third or fourth full moon. Nicolae Radescu had foreseen that this would happen; when "Wolverton" visited him and asked the first questions, he had the answers the Elders had decided upon ready. Wolverton was friendly and understanding. He said all the right things; he claimed that all he wished was to prove himself worthy to receive this 'blessing' too._

Once again Radescu fell out of the tale and into his own memory. "I met him when he left the house – he greeted me with smooth courtesy, but his eyes had an almost feverish brightness, and excitement was radiating from him like the glow from a conflagration. For a short second I looked behind the mask, and I was afraid… But a moment later the glimpse of the truth was gone, and I thought my imagination had betrayed me. – And so he not only fooled me but the Elders, too… for yet another year. Wherever a hand was needed, he was there, he was polite and helpful, and people generally agreed that they couldn't wish for a better neighbor."

Potter gave a barking laugh. "Fenrir Greyback, the Good Shepherd," he murmured. "That's a bad joke."

"Not if you consider what he was after," Seeker retorted. "If he only ate crow for a little while longer, he had the chance to free himself from the influence of the moon, and to be a beast whenever he desired."

"Yes, exactly," Radescu said, his voice bitter. "I wish we hadn't been that naïve."

_In March 2006, 'Edward Wolverton' received the whiff of powder he had so long craved for. At first nothing seemed to change, but when early Summer came, something happened that made the Elders of Bojta realize that they had made a terrible mistake. A schoolclass from Sibiu hiked in the Cibin Mountains, exploring some of the caves near the river Olt. Two twelve-year-old girls suddenly disappeared without a trace. The police started a huge search operation, but with no success. _

"It was my father who finally found out what had happened," Radescu said, a steep, vertical fold between his eyebrows. "He knew the caves in the hills around Bojta much better than the Muggle police, from the times when he had hidden there during the change, before… before we had the stone. He discovered the girls at last, on a mild, sunny morning in July."

His face was suddenly very pale, and Seeker could see the muscles of his jaw tense to tight knots under his skin. There was a long silence. Finally Ruta spoke.

"Were they dead?" she asked gently.

"Yes, they were." Radescu swallowed, his eyes dark and haunted from something only he could see in his mind. "What had happened to them was worse than a simple killing; their murderer had literally torn them to pieces."

He straightened his back, fighting for his composure.

"As a werewolf, my father immediately recognized the signs… and it was the time of the new moon. None of us would have done a damnable thing like this… we had lived in safety because none of us had hunted under the curse for nearly five decades. This cruel crime was a severe danger for the werewolf community in Bojta." His lips formed a narrow line, and they could feel his reluctance to continue the story of this drama like a dark cloud in the warm air of the room.

_After the first shock Nicolae Radescu decided against taking "Wolverton" to task and Apparated to Sibiu instead. He visited the editorial office of the _Phoenixul Românesc _– the national wizard newspaper - and spent a long afternoon doing research on the modern wizard history of England and the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Finally he found what he had been looking for – an older article about werewolves in Great Britain, mainly focusing on a certain Fenrir Greyback (who was described as a monster and a daunting example for the vileness of the "cursed race" in general). There was also a photograph… obviously more than ten years old, but the likeness of Greyback to "Wolverton" was as undeniable as it was horrifying._

Radescu took a deep breath.

"My father returned the same evening and told me about his discovery. We agreed that the Elders must be informed, and that a fast decision had to be made. I went to Greyback's house and saw that he wasn't there. He had already killed since he was in Bojta, and it was more than possible that the first murder had only spurred his bloodlust. So my father did… he decided to change and to hunt him down, by following his spoor."

His eyes found Ruta's face.

"'It takes a beast to get rid of that beast', he said."

He looked down at his hands; Seeker saw that his fingers were trembling.

"He didn't come back that night, and he stayed away the whole next day and the following night, too. My unease grew until I was completely panicking, and finally I decided to follow both tracks – though I didn't dare to change. I found him the next evening. He lay close to the wall of the _Turnul Rosu_, half bled to death."

A sharp intake of breath came from Ruta. _"Merlin."_

"He must have been there since dawn of that day; he was in human form, and changing back had weakened him greatly. He was covered with bruises and minor injuries, but his right leg was severly damaged. My father had never been a healer, and as a wolf, he hadn't been able to take his wand with him. So all he could to do was to bind the bleeding leg with his belt, and to wait for help. When I finally arrived, he was unconscious, the makeshift bandage had slackened, and blood was soaking the ground beneath his body. I sank down beside him and took his head on my knees. He opened his eyes and looked at me. 'Radu…' he whispered, _'Fiul meu.'_ He was silent for a long while, and then I heard his voice again, barely more than a whisper. He was struggling for each single word. 'Greyback… bit me… stood over me… grinning… like a lunatic… '…won't stay here to watch you die, old fool'… will return to England now …to finally take his revenge….' My father closed his eyes, and I could feel his pulse under my hand stumble and slow down."

Radescu shuddered, his face distorted with grief. But he continued nonetheless, unable to dam up the stream of memories spilling out.

"'Revenge?' I asked, "Father, what kind of revenge? Against whom?' My father didn't answer, not at first. His breath grew shallow and laborious, and I… I wept. Suddenly his hands came up, grabbing my collar and pulling me down, close to his mouth. He murmured something I could not understand. 'Try again,' I urged, while my tears fell into his hair. 'Try again, father.' And then I understood what he was saying. 'Lupin', he gasped, _'Lupin…'_ And that was the last time he ever spoke to me."

The tall, grey-haired figure seemed to shrink into the sofa. From the corner of his eye Seeker saw a small movement; it was Ruta, leaning in, her fingers closing around the werewolf's hand. He was unable to curb the sudden, dark impulse that made him speak; in the deep silence of the room his voice was hoarse and almost angry.

"Where was _your_ wand when you found your father?"

Radescu slowly raised his head, staring blindly in his direction. But he didn't say anything. To Seeker's surprise, it was Potter who answered.

"He has no wand," the young man said softly. "His father was a wizard, but Mr. Radescu is a Squib. He has just enough magic to Apparate with me, or we would've had to take the train."

A painful wave of shame washed over Seeker. _Spitting venom at a man who had lost that much, simply because the woman he cared for had showed him a spontaneous gesture of kindness and compassion… sometimes his former, abandoned self came back to haunt him indeed._

He cleared his throat. "I am sorry, Mr. Radescu," he said simply. "That was highly inappropriate."

"Not as inappropriate as you may think,_ Domnul_ Seeker;" Radescu answered, straightening his back. "I could not save my father, but I might have been able to save _Doamna_ Lupin."

Ruta stared at him. "You might… _oh."_ She swallowed nervously. "Because… because Greyback told your father who was the aim of his revenge?"

"Exactly." Radescu grimaced. "He most certainly told him… and though I clearly remembered each and every word my father had spoken in his last moments, I locked those memories away for months. We buried him and grieved for him, and I took over his place as one of the Elders… and as the Keeper of the _Piatra Lunii_. I simply didn't want to remember – but the name _Lupin_ occasionally came back to haunt me. Summer passed by, and finally I went and searched the documents of my father. In a drawer in his desk, I found a big folder full of newspaper articles. Some of them came from the _Phoenixul Românesc_, but half a dozen were in English, from your _Daily Prophet_. My father obviously had brought them with him from his trip to Sibiu to show them to me, back in July. Now I read them, and I discovered the name Remus Lupin. The article said that he had died with his wife in the Second Battle against the Dark Lord, but it also spoke of a son, a small boy."

He bowed his head.

"At first I didn't know what to do. Should I turn to the Wizard Ministry in Bukarest? The reputation of werewolves isn't any better in my country than it is in yours. I imagined myself standing in the office of some bored magistrate in Bukarest, trying to tell him about a secret I couldn't even begin to reveal… I would have been forced to speak of the _Piatra Lunii_. I nearly lost my courage… but then I studied the newspaper articles again and found other names. Harry Potter… Hermione Granger… Ronald Weasley. And one article mentioned Ronald Weasley's elder brother - an English Dragontamer who worked with a group of wizards, at the slopes of the _Vârful Cindrel_."

"Charlie Weasley," Ruta said. "Did you get the chance to meet him?"

"Yes," Radescu answered. "But it was incredibly difficult; the Dragontamers operate in great secrecy, and their area is protected by powerful spells. I only succeded fourteen days ago - and then spent an arduous night with the attempt to convince him that I meant no harm, that I was not completely crazy, and that I told him the truth."

"I would've loved to see that," Potter murmured; green eyes met black, and Seeker's face relaxed in a brief grin. Then he turned his attention back to Radescu; the werewolf pulled something out of his pocket.

"_Domnul_ Weasley contacted the Ministry; with his help I was finally able to talk to the right people. And this is why I am here now… to tell you my story, and to pay the debt of Bojta, _Doamna_ Lupin... and my debt."

"I don't understand," Ruta said, frowning. "What kind of debt?"

"Bojta gave Greyback shelter when he needed it, and we allowed him to fool us with his well-spun lies. Our simple-mindedness led to the death of two children, and to the attack against you, _Doamna_ Lupin, and Remus Lupin's son. Had I overcome my grief earlier, I might have saved you from turning to a werewolf at all."

"If I learned anything during the past few months," Ruta replied with a pale smile, "it is that 'What if' doesn't lead anywhere. I don't blame you for my fate, Mr. Radescu."

"You are most gracious," Radescu said, his face hard and determined. "But I blame myself, and there is only one way to regain my peace of mind."

He opened his hand, revealing a small flask. It was nearly empty; only the bottom was covered with a fine, black powder. Seeker quickly rose from his chair, excitement flaring through his veins like a sudden fire.

"Is that ---"

"Yes, _Domnul_ Seeker. This is powder from the _Piatra Lunii_ – enough for three or four doses. Use it with care, _Doamna _Lupin, and you will be free from the curse of the moon for the rest of your life."

vvvvv

They stood in the vestibule; Harry Potter wore his leather jacket and Radu Radescu a long, woolen cloak.

"I'll see Andromeda for dinner, as soon as I have Apparated with Mr. Radescu back to London," Potter said. "I will tell her and Teddy that you are well." He smiled at Ruta. "Perhaps you would like to tell her personally? I'm sure she wouldn't mind seeing you."

Ruta shook her head.

"No, Harry," she said. "I think it's a bit... early, after what happened yesterday. Oh… by the way, the last time I read Teddy a Beedle tale, I accidentally took the book home with me. Would you give it back to her?"

"Of course," Potter said. "If you really think…"

"Yes, I do." Ruta spoke firmly. "Give me a moment… I left it upstairs in my bedroom."

For the fraction of a second her eyes met Seeker's. He saw a tiny, warm smile and felt his own face involuntarily relax in response; then she was gone and he could hear her steps on the stairs. He doubted that Potter had caught the short exchange of glances, but the expression on Radescu's face clearly showed that he had noticed it. His brows rose towards his hairline, and his nostrils widened as if he got scent of a surprising aroma. A moment later Ruta was back and handed _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to Potter.

"Farewell, Mr. Radescu," she said, turning to the werewolf. "It was a pleasure to meet you. No… more than a pleasure. I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you did for me."

"It was the least I could do," Radescu replied earnestly. "Farewell, _Doamna_ Lupin." He hesitated. "_Domnul_ Seeker?"

"Yes?"

"Did I understand correctly that you and _Doamna_ Lupin are friends? You are not… married?"

Ruta froze, and Potter opened his mouth. But before he could speak, Seeker turned his head and gave him a stare that was the sheer, shattering essence of every cold gaze Severus Snape had ever shot along his crooked nose at the Boy Who Lived. The younger man turned bright red.

"Excuse me," he murmured. ""I'll wait outside." He had barely finished the sentence when the door already fell closed behind him. Seeker looked at Radescu and saw that he smiled with a certain embarrassment.

"I hope the question was not too brazen," he said. "This is absolutely not my business, of course, but I must admit that I am curious."

Seeker exhaled audibly.

"You are right, this is not your business," he replied coolly. "But no, we are _not_ married."

"Amazing," Radescu stated softly, and then he said something in his own language, almost under his breath.

"Would you repeat that in English, please?" Seeker asked, the temperature of his voice dropping to a level far beyond arctic frost. "My Romanian is rather poor."

"Forgive me," Radescu answered calmly, and then his eyes found those of Seeker and held them. "I said: _I can smell the scent of her all over your skin_."

Seeker stared at him, at a complete loss for words. The anger he had successfully fought back before returned with full force. _How did he dare… and what if his tale was nothing else but a cleverly woven fairy tale, to protect the families in his village from discovery?_ His mind reached out, meeting no resistance; Radescu's eyes widened, though, and he froze, one hand raised in a defense that came far too late.

_Ruta's face was the first thing Seeker met… and his own, lips curled in distrust. Then a wave of unbearable sorrow washed over him as he gazed down at the distorted features of a dying man, hands and clothes reeking with the heavy, warm vapour of freshly spilled blood. Seeker jerked back, but he was irresistibly drawn deeper into Radescu's memories, and Greyback's cruel grin flickered past him, met by a rush of horrified fear. There was also a black, shimmering rock, accompanied by a strong impression of unspeakable relief. But above and underneath all those vivid images he felt the pale brightness of the moon, an eternal threat, an overpowering, fateful curse. _

Seeker withdrew from Redescu's mind and the werewolf relaxed abruptly, his eyes blazing reddish fire… but then they returned to the deep, calm brown and he actually _smiled._

"I guess I deserved this," he said. "Have I sufficiently proven my trustworthiness, _Domnul_ Seeker?"

"You have," Seeker brusquely replied. "And I hope you understand that I had to be sure."

He watched as Radescu took Ruta's hand, leaned over it and grazed the knuckles with his lips. Then the werewolf bowed deeply.

"_La revedere_," he said. "Should you ever wish to visit the place where the _Piatra Lunii_ is kept, you will be most welcome." One last time he looked at Seeker. "_Both_ of you."

And with that he was gone.

vvvvv

The silence their visitor left behind was almost deafening. It was Ruta who broke it first; she stepped beside Seeker and touched his arm.

"It was only natural for him to notice something," she softly said. "He's a werewolf, after all."

"And brutally tactless," Seeker retorted, his voice slightly annoyed.

"I owe him very much," Ruta replied, creating a small distance between them; the spot where only seconds before her hand had been felt strangely empty and cold. "He has offered me the greatest gift anyone could have given me – freedom from the moon, redemption from the curse that Greyback brought over my life."

He didn't answer.

"And there's yet another aspect," Ruta continued. "All the time it has greatly bothered me that this burden was not only forced upon _my_ shoulders. You have been nothing less than generous and selfless, Stephen, but an involvement in this mind-boggling drama can hardly have been on top of your wish list when you started anew and thought about what to do with your second chance."

Her matter-of-fact exploration of his dreams and hopes made his lips twitch with weak amusement.

"Your ideas of selflessness are rather unusual," he remarked dryly. "I wouldn't call sharing your bed a matter of sheer altruism."

He looked at Ruta. "Let's go back into the light; I can hardly see your face."

Winky had closed the curtains and lit a fire; the room was a soothing retreat against the cold darkness of the night. Stephen thanked the little house elf and sent her home to rest, assuring her that there was no need for more baking or tea. Ruta sat down on the sofa, stretching her legs with a sigh.

"Radescu... he sounded so... astonished," she said. "Do you suppose that is because he's surprised that someone who is free of the curse would have the courage to make love to a werewolf?"

"Not with his parentage," Stephen said wryly. "I have a lowering suspicion that his astonishment is for a far more discouraging reason than that."

"Oh?"

"If he were still a youth, the mere fact that middle-aged people indulge in that sort of thing would probably make him cringe with horror." He met her eyes, his own softening at the sight of the startled laughter dawning in hers. "But in this particular case he might just have been surprised that you took someone of my appearance and... erh... gloomy nature into your bed."

„I don't remember complaining," she said gently, turning her head to the fire; the light of the flames was dancing over her skin, painting vivid reflexes of brightness and shadow. "Quite to the contrary, Stephen."

He saw a brief smile, but she quickly grew serious again.

"I was used to being alone; my life had a firm, reliable pattern. But now it is unraveled like a badly knitted scarf, and there are choices I must make. _Difficult_ choices."

Seeker waited silently.

"Radescu's powder won't change the fact that I can't work at Fionnula's any longer. I'm still unemployed, and I still have to find something new. At least I won't have to figure out any stories about why I'm missing every time the moon is full; that will make things much easier. And I won't need the Wolfsbane Potion any more. That gives you a choice, too."

"Me?" He studied her tired face, frowning. Ruta looked at him, her eyes calm and very clear.

"The choice to leave, if you want," she said. "You might wish to take some time and think things over, Stephen. The last few weeks were incredibly difficult, for both of us; fate has dragged us along like a giant avalanche. Perhaps you need a chance to catch your breath."

"Perhaps," he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "But does that necessarily mean that I have to leave?"

"No," she admitted. "Probably not. But you might find my presence a bit… distracting." A smile trembled on her lips. "I know your story all too well - you have been forced to make difficult decisions again and again, some of them more arduous than I'll ever be able to imagine. You have always had to react to disastrous circumstances, mostly in the wink of an eye."

She got up from the sofa and came over to him; she stood close enough that he could feel her breath warm and gentle on his face.

"I would lie if I said that I don't care about the outcome," she said. "But I think you should have the chance to consider your options without that pressure."

"Very unusual," he said slowly. "And perhaps a bit over-dramatic. How about 'If it won't work, we can still be friends'?"

"Stephen." Now Ruta's palms lay flat against his chest. "You sacrificed your cover to run to my rescue. You killed Greyback to save my life and you cared for my wounds. You brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for me… and you proved to me that I'm still worthy to be… to be cherished." There was a catch in her voice, but she continued nonetheless. "No, I don't think that we could ever return to being 'just' friends, or neighbors who merely greet each other over the garden fence. Do you?"

_He was not foolish enough to deny that she was right. She wouldn't have believed him anyway – she was definitely too clever for her own good._

"No." He took one of her hands and kissed it.

She smiled, not sadly, but with a determination that he loved to see in her. "The last weeks have given me bottomless horror, but unlimited joy, too, and whatever was bright and hopeful had its source in you, and you alone," she said. "Therefore I want to give you – I _need_ to give you -- something in return. Freedom - and _time_."

He bowed to the inevitable, conscious of echoing Radescu's parting gesture, and discovering that he didn't truly mind.

"All right – I will leave now; there are some matters I have to take care of anyway. Eat something, Ruta, and sleep. You are still a bit off-color; try to get some rest."

She stepped back, breaking the contact. "I will, I promise. Have a good evening, Stephen."

"Goodnight, Ruta."

Seeker watched her walking out of the room and stayed back, waiting; after a while he heard the sound of the bedroom door falling closed. He went outside, took his long cloak from the wardrobe and left the house.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

**Author's Notes:**

First of all I would like to thank my tireless betas, _rabidsamfan_ and _clevertoad_, without whom I would never have come that far. And in this special case my gratitude also goes out to the marvelous and kind _luthien23 _– her Romanian is much better than Seeker's, and most certainly better than mine. :-)

_Doamna/ Domnul_ – Mr. or Mrs.  
_Turnul Rosu_ – Red Tower  
_familile de lupi_ – wolf families  
_Consiliul Lupilor_ – Council of Wolves  
_Piatra Lunii_ – Stone of the moon  
_Patriarh_ - chief or patriarch  
_Stapânul Întunecat_ – Dark Lord  
_Phoenixul Românesc_ – The Romanian Phoenix  
_Fiul meu_ – my son  
_La revedere_ - Good bye

Some additional geographical details:

_Sibiu_ is the former German settlement _Hermannstadt _– the capital of Transylvania. The _Cibin Mountains_ can be seen from there, high peaks, covered with snow, and the highest peak is the _Vârful Cindrel_ (7362 ft). I humbly apologize to the inhabitants of Bojta – the community of werewolves there is a product of my imagination and has nothing to do with reality. ;.)

Oh - and of course a heartfelt **Thank you** to all of those who have followed this tale so far. Only one more chapter to go!


	20. My Heart Will Know You

Chapter Nineteen  
**My Heart Will Know You**

The castle was a black silhouette against the dark horizon. In the Lake District, clouds had hidden the sky: here a myriad of bright stars glittered on crenelated towers and gazebos, and the air was clear and cold as ice.

Stephen Seeker stood barely fifty feet from the great gate of Hogwarts, his feet already on the familiar path. He held the Invisibility Cloak in his hands; he would return it to Harry Potter as soon as his latest mission was completed. If everything worked out as planned, he wouldn't need it any longer.

He hadn't been here for nearly eight years; he had met with Minerva McGonagall twice, but not at the school. She still owned her father's house in Edinburgh, facing the Firth of Forth; they had planned his new life back in 1998 while he sat in front of a big window, looking outside at the wide, grey branch of water and watching the golden lights of the trains crossing Forth Bridge.

But now he had come back to Hogwarts, he had come _home_. Here he had spent his boyhood. Here he had succeeded in gaining knowledge and tragically failed in finding true friendship until long after that boyhood was gone. Here he had taught for nearly seventeen years, caught between his faithfulness to Albus Dumbledore and his false loyalty to the Dark Lord. Here he had struggled helplessly against the old hate that constantly overcame him whenever he saw James Potter's child… even though the boy was Lily's son, too. Here had changed into the man who "died" in the Shrieking Shack. And here, standing in the night, on the edge between old and new life, he felt great gladness that his unwilling guard over the Boy Who Lived had been one of the keys to his personal redemption.

He could see their faces in front of his inner eye: James, arrogant and unbearably confident… but James had loved Lily, he _had truly_ loved her, and that was reason enough to leave the old abomination in the past where it belonged. Sirius, whose cruel confinement to Azkaban had ultimately hindered him from growing up into the person he might have otherwise become. Remus… _Remus_. He was the only one who in retrospect really touched Seeker… because Remus had gone through the same ordeal as Ruta had, because she had loved him so hopelessly… and because her painful fate had revealed so much about what Remus had gone through most of his life.

_Ruta. _

He was finally able to leave his old enemies to the past. But she was his present, and perhaps his future, if he managed to release her from the frozen fear that had led to her astonishing, generous offer.

_Freedom… and time._

He had been given the gift to choose, and he _had_ chosen. He could see his path clearly before him… the path that had led from the misery of Spinner's End to this castle, to an end and an unexpected beginning in the Shrieking Shack, and from there into a future he would not spend alone. Not if he found the courage in his heart, not if he spoke the right words… the most powerful spell he'd ever used, strong enough to unlock the soul of the woman who loved him enough to set him free.

He stood directly in front of the gate now. He unfolded the precious cloak, pulled it over his head and felt the fine, thin fabric whisper against his cheeks and nose. He knew the spells sealing the door by heart, and the heavy, wooden wings swung back when he touched them with his wand and whispered the well-known words.

Pale moonlight flooded the Great Hall, and the familiar scent of books and stone and ancient dust on carved wood wrapped around him like a loving embrace. Seeker took a deep breath, walking with soundless steps… the corridors were blissfully empty and his feet found the way to the Headmistress' office without any assistance. She was most certainly not in her private quarters. He knew her well enough to know that her duties would keep her working until late in the night. _As they had kept_ him _working, in the office that had never been his, because for him it would always belong to the only friend he'd ever had._

He reached the Gargoyle and hesitated for a moment, searching for the password. _"Glenfiddich,"_ he finally whispered, remembering the short note she had sent him three months ago, "just in case". The Gargoyle made way for him, not the least irritated that there was only a voice but no human figure where it came from.

One moment later he had reached the entrance; the door was ajar, and no voices could be heard, only the very soft scratching of a quill. He stepped inside, closed the latch and looked at the woman sitting behind the desk.

She was writing on a parchment, a steep fold between her brows, and her rectangular glasses mirrored the firelight. He could see pale streaks in the chaste, black hairdo; and tired lines running down from her nose to her mouth. He let the Invisibility Cloak slip from his shoulders.

"Minerva."

Her head jerked up and she gave a shocked gasp. _"Severus?"_

"In person." He folded the precious fabric and saw her startled gaze when she recognized it.

"For heaven's sake, but that is _Potter's!"_ she exclaimed. "How did you…"

"I borrowed it, with his full agreement" he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You realize that I didn't want to walk through Hogwarts in full view, don't you?"

"Oh… of course." She looked slightly confused. "But I still don't understand…"

"You will, in a while. I would like to tell you a most interesting story, and I need your help." He sat down in the chair opposite to her. "Does the password still match the secret bottle in that cupboard over there?"

"Yes, it does. Clever of you." Minerva's face relaxed in a rare smirk, and a small flick with her wand made the door of the cupboard in question fly open. A green bottle with a black and golden label sailed elegantly down to the desk. She uncorked it, and an amber-colored liquid ran into two crystal tumblers that suddenly appeared in front of her. She handed him one of the tumblers, took a sturdy sip from her own and leaned back, studying his face over the rim of her glasses.

"Now, Severus… I'm all ears."

vvvvv

The next morning dawned chilly and with dark, thick clouds nearly touching the rooftops of St. Mary Green. Ruta sat beside the window in the parlor, tightly wrapped into her dressing gown, the warmth of the fireplace behind her. Snow was blowing against the cottage, dusting the asters in the garden and the windowpane with a thin veil óf crisp white.

She was tired to the bones. Winky had served her an early dinner the evening before and she had gone to bed long before midnight, trying to find the rest she so urgently needed. But sleep fled before her, and she lay curled up under the warm featherbed, staring at the wall.

_She had done the right thing. She had done the right thing. _

It had been staggering to see how willingly he had accepted her offer. She had shown him the way out, and he had actually taken it. But what else could she have done? Radescu had brought her the perfect solution for her personal dilemma… and directly after the Romanian werewolf had left, in the darkness of her vestibule, she had realized that the powder of the _Piatra Lunii_ meant not only freedom for _her_. Stephen was no longer bound to her fate; she was well enough now to care for herself, and after taking the powder she wouldn't need to undergo the monthly discipline of taking the Wolfsbane Potion he brewed for her.

_She had done the right thing. _

After that ridiculous, painful drama with Remus she had met a few other men, one of them the brother of a young witch she had befriended in the garden market in Dover. He was kind and caring, and it was not his fault that he constantly kept reminding her of her cousin… and of her own, devastating failure. That relationship had ended before it could grow too serious, and after a few more half-hearted attempts – and several years – she had decided that keeping to herself was the best thing she could do.

_The right thing. _

What she felt for Stephen Seeker was so different from anything she'd ever felt before for anyone: curiosity first, then a growing friendship that slowly turned to deep affection. Knowing his story had warned her against expecting and demanding more than he was willing to give. And then Greyback's revenge had torn her life to pieces, and Stephen gave more than she'd ever dared to dream of. She'd gotten used to relying on him with almost frightening swiftness, overwhelmed by his quiet generosity… it had been so easy to trust in him, so fatally _natural_ to rely on his strength. And when Radescu's astonishing gift turned the circumstances of her life upside down again, she had been, all of a sudden, overwhelmed by the feeling that her needs held him captive, same as the fateful vow Albus Dumbledore had screwed out of him after Lily Potter's horrible, untimely death.

_She had done the right thing. _

She couldn't expose him to yet another long-term debt. If she had learned anything about this enormously complicated man, it was that he took his promises and duties grimly serious. He had nearly sacrificed his life for the last ward he'd been entrusted with, and his commitment to her personal well-being had nearly led to his discovery. She knew that he honestly cared for her, but she was rather unsure if three months of a reluctlantly growing friendship, a horrible drama and two shared nights were enough to overcome both their engrained habits and inevitable misgivings.

_The right thing. _

But she _missed _him. Missed him already with something uncomfortably close to desperation, trembled at the thought that he might actually stay away, might shy back from what they had so miraculously gained. With a mixture of fear and wonder she realized that all her defenses were broken; she felt incredibly lonely, vulnerable and lost. _Lost without his voice, his touch, his sarcastic wit, lost without his eyes seeking her gaze. _Perhaps she had done the right thing, but what if her noble offer meant the end of nursing the small flame of hope she had so unexpectedly granted her heart?

At half past six in the morning she decided that it was hopeless to wait for a slumber that wouldn't come anyway. She got up from her bed, prepared a bath with rosemary to raise her crestfallen spirit and sat in the clouds of fragrant steam until she was able to think clearly again.

Her old dressing gown was made of faded, burgundy velvet; rather shabby after being worn for nearly fifteen years, but she wrapped her naked body in the warm folds with exhausted gratitude.

She went down into the kitchen; it was spotless and empty. Winky hadn't come yet… and Ruta was not entirely certain if the little house-elf wouldn't stay away if her master were doing the same. A small scene drifted into her memory: Winky, brewing coffee with an elegant gesture of her long fingers, and at the same time singing out loud. She shared Andromeda Tonks' and Molly Weasley's enthusiasm for Celestina Warbeck's dubious musical _oeuvre_; her squeaky voice, belting out _"Let meeee beee your love pooo-ti-ooon…"_ had been one of the rare highlights of the days after Ruta's return from St. Mungo's.

_She not only missed the master, she missed the servant, too._

The parlor was chilly, and after a second of hesitation she knelt in front of the fireplace, took dry pieces of applewood from the basket and piled them on the grate. It was still easier to get a fire going with her left hand than to use the _Incendio Spell_, the fingers of her right one clumsily trying not to drop the wand. Finally she felt the glow of the flames on her face and sat back on her heels, giving a small sigh of satisfaction.

A few minutes later she had installed herself in the chair beside the window; she pulled the curtain aside and gazed out into the dim, blue light of the early morning. Right opposite her house, a streetlamp painted a soft, bright circle into the growing snowdrift around its bottom, and while Ruta was still watching, she saw Callista Ogilvie passing by, walking Fancy back towards the bend to Mill Walk. The old woman made careful, small steps; her white dog was only discernable against the clean hills along the cleared sidewalk because it was wearing a gaudy red pullover, and something that suspiciously looked like knitted shoes. Twenty-five years ago Mrs. Ogilvie had buried her husband, Ruta thought, and since then she resided in her cottage, surrounded by photographs in silver frames, embroidered flowers on ruffled cushions and a pet for company (the current 'Fancy' was No. 4 in a series of poodles).

_Where would she, Ruta, be, twenty-five years from now? Still in St. Mary Green, still cultivating roses and vegetables in her back garden, and closing the curtains against the memories of the demons she had overcome and the man she'd sent away?_

She followed the old lady with her eyes until Mrs. Ogilvie vanished around the bend, and suddenly her gaze was drawn back to the spot under the streetlamp. Despite the frost, the air seemed to waft like being heated by the flames of a fire. There was a small, sharp bang, clearly audible even through the closed window, and a tall figure appeared where seconds before only drifting snowflakes had been. Ruta stared, hardly believing her eyes.

_That… _

She blinked. Tiredness was burning behind her lids, and for a moment her sight was blurry. When she could see clearly again, the spot beneath the streetlamp was empty.

_Bravo. Now she was hallucinating. As if her life hadn't come apart at the seams already without this additional complication. _

Sleep. She needed sleep. Ruta felt her head sink back; she was fighting the obdurate desire to wake up in her bed after enough hours of rest, comforted by the thought of Winky's coffee and the warm, reassuring presence of Stephen's body beside her.

"Good morning, Ruta."

She sat up in her chair with a start, her eyes flying open.

He stood in the middle of the parlor, still wearing his dark, long cloak. Snow was melting on his shoulders and hair, and every line of the familiar face was as clearly drawn as if sketched by a very sharp crayon. She saw tired shadows under the black eyes, and a certain strain around his mouth, as if it had taken a long way to return to her, and fierce resolution to boot.

This was her last, conscious moment. Every clear thought, the last shreds of her noble selflessness were swept away by a wave of naked relief, and the very next moment she shot out of her chair, hands blindly reaching out for him. He caught her in his arms, stumbling half a step back under the vehemence of their collision. Ruta was securely held and buried her face in snow-damp wool, overwhelmed by the familiar scent and the firmness of his body beneath the thick layers of clothing.

They stood for minutes, swaying slightly. Ruta could feel his warm breath in her hair. Finally she trusted her voice enough to speak. "So much for my iron resolution," she murmured into his shoulder, and felt laughter rumble through his chest.

"It was rather impressive," he retorted. "I must confess I feared that you might send me away again at once. To the Australian outback, perhaps, to stay there for half a year at least, brooding over my… er… choices."

Ruta stepped back and accepted the big handkerchief that suddenly appeared in Stephen's hand. She dried her eyes and found to her great surprise that she was laughing with him.

"Brooding? I don't think so." She shook her head. "I can much more easily imagine you exploring the primitive magic of the Aborigines, eagerly collecting recipes for draughts with strange herbs and dried insects."

"Very clever," he smiled at her. "And a very good idea; I might actually take you up on it it later. But let me get out of this wet cloak first. Winky will be here any moment, to prepare a breakfast for both of us. I'm sorry that she was unable to come earlier; I made some important arrangements last night, and she was otherwise occupied."

"Arrangements?" she asked, frowning.

"We'll come to that later," he said, shaking the cloak from his shoulders and steering it out of the parlor with a casual flick of his wand while she sat down in the chair again. His smile deepened as he studied her face. "I've spent the most part of the last twelve hours in Scotland. And I have brought back a job offer for you."

"You brought…" She stared at him. "Who would---"

"Minerva McGonagall, of course," he calmly said. "Hiring a werewolf is nothing new for Hogwarts, remember?"

Ruta took a deep breath. "Is she aware of what happened yesterday?"

"Yes, she is." He was still speaking in that calm, confident tone. "It doesn't matter any more to her than it matters to me."

She gave a snort of disbelief. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that she doesn't care?"

"This is not what I said." He settled on the sofa opposite of her. "But she relies on your trustworthiness – as I do. And the idea of having you as an assistant for Professor Longbottom definitely has its merits. He is very skilled with herbs, but he consistently muddles up the paperwork. And there's that project with Beauxbatons, requiring a strong herbologist in the works. Beside your own profound knowledge, an organizing hand is badly needed, and Mr. Longbottom will doubtlessly be delighted to find out that it is _your_ hand." He pulled a small parchment roll out of his pocket. "This is an official employment contract for the next two years, with the option to be extended if necessary, and a more than reasonable salary. All you have to do is to sign it."

"I don't know what to say." She took the parchment and turned it between her hands, but she didn't unroll it.

"You should consider moving to Hogwarts," he continued. "Of course you could Apparate, but it would make things a lot easier. Minerva is more than willing to offer you accomodations if you should need them, and leaving St. Mary Green would mean to make a clean sweep." He gave a small smile. "Not to mention that your presence would keep Mr. Longbottom from fiddling with the paperwork after hours, thereby destroying any progress you might have made."

She felt a short, sharp sting of regret. _It would be the end of her time in St. Mary Green. _Eight fulfilling, peaceful years… but clinging to an idyllic past made no sense. Greyback had ripped the pattern of her existence apart, and there was no way back. Stephen had been right, yesterday at the bank of Bléa Tarn: she _had_ to make plans for the future. And doing the first steps into this future at a familiar place would certainly make things easier.

"Only two years, Ruta," he said, his voice very gentle. "Two years to take up the threads of your life again. Minerva made it very clear that she would like to keep you at Hogwarts even after the project is over, if there is any chance to do so. And two years from now, Teddy will receive his letter…"

_Teddy._

"Until then, you can visit him any time… each weekend, if you like. I am sure that you'll be able to Apparate again without assistance very soon… but as long as you need help, I'll take care to get you here safely."

"You want me to take this offer." It was not a question.

He sighed. "Yes, I want you to take this offer, Ruta. You are not made for an idle life."

"What about you?" Ruta studied his face. "You are not made for an idle life either."

"I know." He got up from the sofa and went over to the window, turning his back to her. "You may not be aware of the fact that the school owns several properties within the Hogsmeade area. Minerva offered me a house, _Kelpie Cottage_. It is spacious enough to be comfortable; there's even room to set up a laboratory."

"Oh." She carefully placed the parchment roll on the table. "Will you buy it?"

"I have not come to a decision yet." He hesitated. "But yes… it may well be that I buy it."

"Stephen…" She stared down at her hands. "You have been hiding for months, here in St. Mary Green. But you never planned this to be permanent, did you? You only wanted to make sure that Harry was well… until I came along and things became much more complicated, of course. If you move to Scotland now, to settle down so close to the school where your memory is more alive than anywhere else… that would mean a much bigger risk. Some day the next Vicky Stone will appear on your doorstep… or even some unsuspecting teacher, stumbling right into your secret. What will you do then?"

"Trust me, this will not happen." He was still not looking at her. "The time for hiding is over."

"Wait a moment." She rose from her chair, stepping behind him. "Do you seriously want to tell me that Severus Snape is about to return?"

"Merlin, _no."_ His shoulders grew rigid. "It is not Severus Snape who will live in _Kelpie Cottage_, but Stephen Seeker. Only that he has not been more than a name until now. It is time to give him a proper face."

vvvvv

The parlor was silent… silent enough that Ruta could hear the fine whisper of snowflakes against the windowpane. Suddenly a log cracked in the fire, making her wince._ A proper face?_

"I don't understand." She touched his shoulder. "You're talking in riddles, Stephen. Please, would you look at me?"

Finally he turned around. When he spoke, his deep voice was as tense as his whole body.

"I not only wanted Minerva to find me a house in Hogsmeade," he said. "I already told you that she created my new identity, eight years ago. Last night I asked her to go the extra mile for me, and to perform a permanent Transfiguration."

"But, Stephen…" She swallowed. "That would mean…"

"That would mean that my outward appearance is about to change completely and irreversibly," he finished her sentence. "Of course the method is strictly forbidden without an official permission from the Ministry of Magic, at least if it's used to change the body of a human being. It was highly popular among Gellert Grindelwald's minions, fifty years ago; Voldemort despised it because the effect couldn't be undone. And it takes a truly powerful Master – or Mistress – of Transfiguration to perform the spells without doing severe damage."

She felt a sudden, icy prick of panic in her heart. "It is dangerous, then."

"Yes, it is." His gaze was as placid as it was determined. "But continuing this masquerade is dangerous, too, as the recent events have sufficiently proven." He reached out and ran his fingertips from her temple down to her chin in the mere hint of a caress. "And I could not lay my fate in more capable hands, believe me."

She asked the next question without thinking.

"But if the whole business is such a danger and makes her sail close to the wind for good measure – why do you insist on taking that risk, and why does she agree?"

He didn't answer. Ruta found his eyes; she saw something unexpected in their black depths, a flicker of… what? _Insecurity? Fear?_

"Stephen?"

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "Because we both agreed that you would probably not wish to spend the rest of your life with a husband who constantly hides behind closed curtains."

Time abruptly slowed down and came to a sudden halt. Ruta stood frozen to the spot, her gaze fixed on his face, hypnotized by her own heartbeat. She could sense the strong, regular pulse in her fingertips and behind her temples, her breath following its rhythm and gently adjusting to the tide of her blood.

"_Ruta." _

She came back to herself with a start; he looked at her with growing concern. And yes, there was fear indeed, she could see it clearly now… the fear of having ventured too far, of burned bridges, of being rejected once again. The realization that she was able to shatter his hopes with a single word hit her like a heavy blow against her ribcage.

"_Stephen."_ She barely recognized her own voice. "Are you… are you asking me to _marry_ you?"

"It would certainly seem so." His lips twitched in a half smile, but his eyes were completely serious. "I moved heaven and earth to get you employed again, and to find a house worthy to be offered to you as a new home. I brainwashed one of the most formidable and strong-minded witches in Britain into breaking the rules and giving me a new face, and I twisted her arm into procuring a special licence from the Ministry, to officiate the wedding herself. Yes, Ruta Lupin, I am asking you to marry me ."

She couldn't help but smile at this impressive numeration. _But still…_

"Just for the record: you know what I am. Radescu's Powder might keep me from changing each month, but I'll never be able to trust myself again completely."

"Anyone who trusts himself completely is nothing but a dimwitted fool," Stephen said, almost angrily. But then he took her shoulders in a firm grip, softening his tone. "If you should find it in your heart to trust _me_ instead and to accept my proposal, we shall fight our demons together from now on, back to back."

Disbelieving joy welled up inside of her, bright and irresistible.

"I have always trusted you, from the very beginning," she replied softly. "And you should know enough about my heart by now to do the same."

"Well, then…" He pulled her close, his chin in her hair. "Do you accept? I'm not getting any younger, my Herb of Grace."

Ruta laughed into the warm skin of his neck, feeling the shiver running down his spine. "Me neither. And you are right, we have already lost enough time as it is."

She stepped back and raised her head; their eyes met. She reached out and found his hands. His face was younger than she'd ever seen it before, amazingly carefree and full of hope.

"Yes, Stephen Seeker, I will marry you. I have no idea how the husband I plan to share the rest of my life with will look like, but it will still be you, and this is all that counts."

"Thank you," he replied earnestly. "You won't regret this, I promise."

"I'm much more afraid that _you_ might regret this some day," she said, her voice a little shaky – but before she could find more words, his mouth silenced her. The kiss was tender and confident, and she returned it with disbelieving happiness.

Stephen's arms closed around her, hands stroking her shoulders and following a delicious trace along her spine. He caressed the back of her neck and she heard a deep intake of breath when he discovered her nakedness under the dressing gown; both his kiss and his embrace turned from gentleness to sudden hunger, striking sparks and making her flesh flare with delight.

_Yes_, she thought, _oh yes…_ and suddenly everything within the difficult, intricate pattern of her life seemed to fall into place. The failures of her past, the endless years of deliberate solitude – the result of her terrible inability to accept Remus' loving friendship and to be content with what he had been willing to offer – all that had led her here, to this moment, to this place. Even Greyback's mindless cruelty had become useful, in a way… to shatter her petrified belief that she didn't really need anyone else. For she had needed Stephen, she always would from now on; fate had – finally! - caused her frozen pride to totter and fall.

Glorious heat spread in her body and made her skin tingle, and she sighed into his mouth as his fingers gently loosened the knot in the velvet belt around her waist. _It felt so good, so incredibly right._ The knowledge about their newfound bond ran in her blood like a strange tune, untamed and triumphant. _Mine_, she thought, burying her hands in his hair, _you are mine. And I am yours._

A metal clattering came from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a loud splash of water.

"_Let me stiiiir in your caaaa-uul-droon…" _

That voice was unmistakeable. Ruta broke the kiss with a soft gasp, Stephen's breath warm and fast on her face.

"_Let me waaaltz with your waaaand…" _

"Merlin's beard!" Stephen groaned. Laughter bubbled up in Ruta's chest, infectious enough to make his shoulders shake in response. They stood brow to brow, and the black eyes directly in front of her were glittering with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "I can only apologize for her taste of music."

"Honestly, I think it's rather charming," Ruta protested, unsuccessfully trying to master her own exuberant mirth. "Wait until she gets to the verses…"

"Are you trying to tell me that the chorus is not the worst thing about that song?" He looked decidedly horrified.

"_Oh, brave wizard of my heart,"_ Ruta quoted gleefully, _"how your magic captured me! No spell can ever make us part – our passion, it was meant to be!" _

Stephen raised one hand. _"Mercy,_ my Herb of Grace… enough is enough. Even my capacity for suffering has its limits."

He stepped back, still holding her hand.

"You must be hungry," he said, "and considering your addiction to her coffee, I should count myself lucky that I'm able to offer Winky's services as a kind of dowry, so to speak."

"Her kitchen skills were certainly very tempting," Ruta said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "but they were not what tipped the scales."

"I can only hope that the main reason are my _inner_ values," Stephen remarked, "for even if you actually cherish my outer appearance - which is something I find rather difficult to believe - you won't be able to enjoy it much longer anyway." The laughter had vanished from his eyes. "Are you aware that you are buying a pig in a poke?"

"Stephen…" Ruta shook her head, searching for words. _This was perhaps a last kind of test, and she needed to be absolutely honest_. "You are wrong; when I met you, I had not the tiniest idea who you were, and still I felt drawn to you. I admired your cleverness, your sharp wit, your humor… long before I found out about your true identity. And after all that…" She paused and felt the gentle pressure of his fingers around hers, encouraging her to continue. "… after all that drama I was… I was ashamed to have burdened you with so much. That was why I insisted on giving you a choice, and sending you away… and then I suddenly understood that I betrayed myself."

"Why?" His voice was very soft.

"Because I simply couldn't bear the thought of losing you again," she answered openly. "My feelings for you have nothing to do with how you look – I will accept any change, as long as the man underneath the skin remains the same. My heart will know you anywhere, Stephen Seeker."

She cupped his face with both hands and kissed him.

"And now I would love to have some coffee and scrambled eggs. I leave it to you if you want to tell Winky about our plans immediately… you might risk a cascade of Warbeck-songs, simply because she decides to celebrate the good news. And afterwards I would like to lie down for a while… I didn't get much rest last night."

"Me neither," Stephen said. "I need something to counterbalance Minerva's _Glenfiddich. _The times when I could take a night spent with discussions and half a bottle of malt whisky without any unpleasant repercussions are long over."

"I'm really sorry." Ruta laughed. "Perhaps we should lie down together. And after enough rest I might actually decide what it is I would like you to keep."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and renewed amusement. "Don't tell me you have grown fond of my nose!"

"I could definitely live with it," she told him. "only that there are probably too many people in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts who vividly remember the face it belonged to for thirty-eight years." She looked down at his fingers. "But I have grown fond of your hands, Stephen."

"Only my hands?" _He was teasing her, and he obviously enjoyed it enormously. _

"Give me a cup of coffee or two," she said, "and grant me a few hours of undisturbed sleep, and I will tell you what else it is that I exceptionally like." She raised her head, smiling innocently into his eyes. "I'll go upstairs and change into something more decent."

"Are you sure you have to?" His voice carried more than a hint of regret, and a second later she felt his fingers, grazing the swell of her breasts under the dressing gown. She caught his hand in a firm grip before it had the chance to venture any further.

"Breakfast first." She spoke close to his lips. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

On his way to the kitchen he stopped in the doorway, smoothing his disheveled hair, and turned back to her, his eyes fixed on her face. "Ruta…"

The sound of his voice carried her back to the evening when he had read her the fairy tale. Even in the body of a wild beast, held captive by the curse, she had reacted instinctively to the way he spoke her name then… full of wonder and a joy he hardly dared to feel, and at the same time hesitant and almost unwilling. But now all hesitation and reluctance were gone, replaced by new confidence and peace, and the tune in her blood grew jubilant as she watched him smiling at her with the same deep, profound bliss that sang in her own veins.

He _left_ the room, and she could hear him speak to Winky in the kitchen, though she was unable to discern what he was saying. She went out of the parlor and up the stairs to the bedroom, her steps fleet-footed and swift.

He'd never said the famous three words people usually associated to the intimate union of two hearts… not in the weeks before and not today. And Ruta didn't believe that she would hear them from him any time soon.

She didn't care. Her heart knew, without the shadow of a doubt.

_Her heart knew._

**FINIS**

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**Author's Notes:**

Well, that's it. No, really... after some serious consideration I have decided against an epilogue. Those among you who still would like to catch a glimpse into the future of this unusual (and very beloved) couple, I just posted a little conclusion. Originally it should have had the title _Miss Potter's Secret, _but the little hero decided against my initial idea for the plot and also insisted on another title. If you are interested. you can now read: _Once Upon A Hill Top,_ also here in this archive.

Wow. More than one year of work... and all that only because I sent _rabidsamfan _the first version of the prologue and was told: _"Feed the bunny."_ I did, and it grew TEETH. Thank you - by the way - to _rabidsamfan_ and _clevertoad_, my two most amazing betas, honest enough to make me rewrite the worst nonsense and enthusiastic enough to keep me on track. I love you, ladies, always.

Thank you to my readers. You carried me through, you gave me the courage to continue and warmed me with your open praise (or made me think with your critical thoughts). This tale would not be what it has become now without you. And if you really want to make me happy - for I don't make any money with this, I only enjoy playing in Mrs. Rowling's glorious sandbox - tell me what you think. I honestly cherish every review!


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